


A king's word

by thebookhunter



Series: Night of Kings [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor - All Media Types
Genre: Angrboda is joining the trolling bandwagon, Cultural exchange, Featuring Jason Momoa as Svadilfari, Hardheaded asshats, Jealousy, Loki is vibrating with pent up sexual needs, M/M, Mutual Pining, Night of Kings - The Sequel, Politics, Svad and Thor keep exercising topless and making it so much worse, Thor attempts to work out the Jotun monogamous mindset, We're going to Jotunheim dog, a Loki sandwich, a game of gourd suspiciously reminiscent of rugby, and indeed, he's done extensive research, much overdue, tense meals, the magnificent hot springs at chez svadilfari, visitjotunheim.com
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-05
Updated: 2018-05-07
Packaged: 2018-08-29 07:04:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 57,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8479771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebookhunter/pseuds/thebookhunter
Summary: It's been way too long since their unforgettable night together, and Loki has despaired that Thor's promises will ever come to pass. One does not simply doubt the word of the King of Asgard.





	1. The reception

**Author's Note:**

> FOR THOSE WHO HATE ANYTHING BUT STRICT 100% PURE UNTOUCHED THORKI, check end notes for spoiler, and leave me alone pls.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Byleistr has been planning this party for months. It was always supposed to end with a bit of a surprise, but, you know, not that much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you Angrymadsygin for the title! And Amandahuffleduck, you'll get your penguins, I promise...

 

There had been a couple of changes in the court of Jotunheim since the journey to Asgard. One of the most conspicuous, perhaps, was that the three royal siblings sat together for breakfast every morning, as they used to do back in the day when they were still children and their parents still lived and were hale. Both Laufey and Farbauti wished to give their kids a real sense of family, and no matter how pushing their occupations, they managed to make time for this little treat. Helblindi had the best memories of those mornings. He had never been so happy. He had exposed his idea to his siblings upon returning from Asgard, and had not taken no for an answer. Of course, it wasn’t as it had been in his memories, or in his plans. Mum and dad gone, and the children all grown up, and as for the talking in confidence he had envisaged and hoped for? Huffing and puffing, instead, groaning and moaning, that they were put daily to this torment. Byleistr considered it an awful bore, and as for Loki… 

“Do you not like today your bread and pickles, brother?” said Helblindi gently.

“Not hungry,” grumbled the King.

“At the very least, try your porridge…”

Loki growled and pushed his plate away. Helblindi pushed it back.

“It’s the most important meal of the day,” he reminded him.

Loki rolled his eyes white, a gesture at which he was world-class, and made him look like his fifteen-year-old self again. But he did relent and shoved a few spoonfuls into his mouth. He toyed with them there. They refused to go down.

“Is this the face you’re going to wear tonight at the party?” teased him Byleistr. “Always so mindful of fashion. What is this new trend called, gloomy chic?”

“Leave me alone,” grumbled Loki sullenly, chasing his food aimlessly around the bowl.

“Brother mine, I hate to see you so miserable,” said Helblindi. “It’s been two years!”

“Nineteen months,” specified Loki. “And it’s tiresome for me as well.”

“You should move on,” encouraged his brother.

“Nonsense, you should have more faith in Thor!” said Byleistr.

Helblindi’s heart broke a little when he saw that Loki still winced hearing that name. Byleistr continued, unaware or uncaring.

“He promised before the whole of Asgard! He called upon the skies to see! He swore on the serpent of the world!”

“Yes, he’s not afraid of big words. Or perjury,” grumbled Loki.

“He’s a man of honour,” she declared.

“He’d been lying to me since before he even met me,” argued Loki.

“Oh, boo hoo,” dismissed Byleistr. “That’s in the past. What matters is the present. And in the present, nineteen months on, for all his faults, you’re still pining for him.”

Loki turned his face away.

“I’m not,” he muttered sourly. “It’s the burdens of kingship that much weigh upon my spirits.”

“At least when his letters were coming, there was some fire in you,” noted his sister. 

“Yes, the fire of my rightful indignation,” countered Loki.

“Fire nonetheless. Why did you ask him to stop writing?”

“Because he takes me for an utter fool!” cried Loki, suddenly incensed. “His letters were page after page of his customary worn-out love lines, and then a spill of ridiculous notions and impossible plans, which only grew more and more outrageous every time!”

“What sort of plans?” asked Helblindi, nosy that he was.

“I will not offend you by relaying them,” said Loki, tracing a groove on the tablecloth with his cutlery, with enough fury that the material would not recover. “I will not waste my time even speaking of them. Suffice to say the serpent of the world will be taking him to task, for he pretty much vows to turn the world on its head so that we may be together. And in the meantime, since turning the order of things upside down takes time, he begged me to come see him, or let him visit me instead.” And that was clearly an outrageous notion that offended Loki to his gut.

“So?” asked Byleistr.

“So what?” snapped Loki. “Not only does he think me a dimwit who will eat up and drink down the most absurd promises solely because they come from his lips, after how he lied to me, but he clearly must think me a cheap lay as well, who may be bought for the price of those nonsensical promises only! I tell you, he wished for naught but to add me to his rotation of lovers and tumble me a few more times again, until he found himself another shiny new thing to romance.”

“What horrible, horrible things to say!” chastised Byleistr. “Thor is not like that!”

“Oh, when did you become such an expert?”

Byleistr tightened her lip stubbornly.

“Anyway, _stop writing to me_ , I told him again and again, _you won’t get what you’re after_.”

“What did he say to that?” asked Helblindi.

“He said _fine then, no more words from now on, just actions_. And I haven’t heard from him since.” Loki sighed miserably. “And in the next report about Asgard, I learn that he’s been to Vanaheim to meet with Freya, and then to Midgard to meet with Lord Rogers. Actions speak louder than words, indeed.”

“Oh, do stop that now,” said his sister sternly. “He has business dealings with _all_ the realms. I’m sure he’s also been to Svartalfheim and Ulfheim and others as well, it’s just that those names stand out to you because of, well, reasons.”

“And there have been a series of uprisings in the Asgardian ranks and in the coastal cities, hasn’t there?” contributed Helblindi. “He must have been very busy.”

Loki sighed miserably some more.

“Exactly,” he said glumly. “Much too busy. As I am. So he has probably realised this is impossible and let go of his demented notions at last. Finally, I have peace.”

“Yes, you look the very image of serenity,” noted Byleistr.

Loki cast her a mean squint.

“Anyway,” he said then, “I’d better get on with my work, if I am to stop early to get ready for the reception tonight.”

A reception to send the King on his way, before a weeks-long tour of the North, promised at the beginning of his rule and not delivered yet. Byleistr had pestered Loki relentlessly with it. Her brother had finally capitulated. “As long as it doesn’t mean more work for me,” he had sighed. Byleistr had promised solemnly that it wouldn’t, and then worked with the strength and tirelessness of her young age to plan it, arrange it, furnish it, and make it happen.

“Remember, Loki, full regalia!” said Byleistr as Loki walked away. “It’s an important occasion! Do wear the cape I’ve had made for you!”

“Oh, good idea! Lord Svadilfari will be there,” said Helblindi.

By threw a glower at her brother.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” grumbled Loki, deflated, as he left the room.

“Who invited Svadilfari?” gritted Byleistr.

“I did,” said Helblindi. “When I checked the guest list and I noticed he wasn’t there. He would have been much offended to have been left out!”

Byleistr huffed deeply, rubbing her temples.

“Goddammit, Hel.”

“What? He’s damn fine, Loki looks upon him with a kind eye, and his regard for our brother is constant and sincere. Loki needs cheering up.”

“But… precisely tonight?” despaired By.

“What happens tonight?” asked Hel.

“ _UGH_!” Byleistr stood up, and also walked away from the table. “I have so much to do yet,” his sister was grumbling, as she left the room. “And you’ve just made my work ten times more complicated!”

Helblindi took a deep breath. Breathe in, breathe out, breathe in, breathe out. Don’t let it get to you. Do breathe. 

These bloody breakfasts. It had been his idea, sure, but sometimes he could not remember what good had he thought would come from them. Headaches is what he got, mostly, and a sucky way to start the day. 

He went to the stables. That was where his work was, looking after the royal menagerie. He had requested the assignment himself. Animals, give him animals any day. Give him a herd of the most unruly goats, give him a field full of the stubbornest mules, _anything_ rather than siblings. 

 

___________________

 

“Your majesty, if you wish to be ready in time, you must make haste,” prompted the chamberlain, interrupting his work as Loki had instructed.

Loki unstuck his nose from the papers that had absorbed him all day. City matters. He was going to be away for a while, so he had asked his secretaries to select only the most urgent issues. Still a foot-high pile to go through. The affairs of the capital took up about as much time as those of the rest of the country combined, and only grew in number and complexity as the country prospered and more and more came to the city to seek their fortune. Not for the first or the last time, Loki thought that it should not be in the king’s hands to deal with the petty disagreements between the guild of cloth dyers and the tanners, when actual pirates roamed the eastern shores, and a new coal import agreement had to be procured so that his subjects in the northern marks did not freeze to death this winter. Other realms appointed city councils and mayors for these things. He should do that, shouldn’t he? But it was a snake eating its own tail. He needed time to devise and implement such an enterprise, time he did not have because he was much too busy tending to the very affairs he wished his new enterprise would relieve him from. What a headache. The entire structure of government in Jotunheim still relied on that established centuries ago by Loki’s ancestors, when the city was naught but a hamlet with a few hundred dwellers. This would have to change if Loki was to survive his kingship. If they told him this was the reason why his father had lost his mind, he wouldn’t argue with it.

He had another look at the towering pile of urgent matters. He’d have to take it with him on his journey and see to it whenever he could. He’d be burning the midnight oil, wouldn’t he? He knew he wasn’t going on a holiday, but damn, he had hoped to be able to dedicate his attention in full to the needs of the northerners and get some respite from the demands of the capital.

“Alright,” he said, pushing his chair away from the desk and stretching his back. He shuffled exhaustedly to his chambers.

First, a bath. One more thing that had changed since the trip to Asgard? The Jotun king now stripped completely to wash. He had become much more comfortable with his own nudity, and the cold never bothered him anyway. So he wiped the soapy sponge all over his body without shame, then rinsed with soaked cloths, and finally stepped into the hot bath for a few minutes —there wasn’t time for more. He sat patiently, with nothing but a towel on his lap to protect his modesty, for the markings of his house and the kingship to be painted on his face and neck. The reception was formal, but not ritual, so the blue ointment was not required this time, nor the full body markings that were applied from head to toe on religious occasions even when they were not to be seen. Then his woollen underthings, then his leathers —buckles and clasps done up, and laces so tight, some parts of his outfit sewn onto him once over his body. He felt encased in it, constricted, and thus protected and quite powerful. Then the cape Byleistr had commissioned for him, a most extraordinary garment. She had seen it in a dream, she had said, “ _and you looked so hot in it!”_ Loki could hardly tell her what to spend her money on, and indeed, he had been very pleased to receive it. What a splendid birthday gift it had been, a cape made out of raven feathers, with a few peacock feathers woven in for colour. Such a splendid, unique thing. Loki had not yet had occasion to wear it, and he was rather delighted to be able to do so tonight. Though he may not have been looking forwards to this evening, at least there was that. As they finished his hair with a delicate golden netting decorated with tiny gemstones, he appraised himself in the mirror. He put the golden coronet on his head, a narrow band of gold with golden stumps, more discreet than the full ritual crown with those heavy, cumbersome goat horns. He examined the markings on his face. He didn’t wear them often enough to get used to them spelling “king” and “Lord,” when for years they had merely spelled “prince” and “son of”. The silver waters of the mirror returned an alien, regal image. Loki King.

 

As he crossed before the doors of the green wing – those of the monarch’s consort – Sigyn emerged.

“My dear,” he said, kissing her cheek. “A stunning gown. This shade of green suits your red hair so well.”

“Thank you, your majesty. And look at the raven cape! Your sister’s present is most becoming. All eyes will be drawn to you tonight, as usual.”

“Joy,” he said, flatly.

“Poor you. How do you feel this evening?”

“How do I always feel, as of late,” he sighed.

She grabbed his arm, and they walked down the corridor towards the Great Hall together.

“Were we able to meet the terms of the guild of coal miners of Muspelheim? Winter is coming.”

“I told you to leave it in my hands, didn’t I? It all went well, do not trouble yourself. Besides, your sister made me promise not to speak of work tonight.”

“My sister has grown up to become a most meddlesome brat who thinks herself far above her station in this family. A corrective is in line.”

“Oh, she means well. She is concerned about you, as are we all.”

“Oh no, not you too. If you join forces with By, I have no chance.”

She laughed, and hugged his arm.

“Then don’t argue, and do what we who love you order.”

He put his hand on hers, warmed up inside by her affection, which always came through without shyness or reserve. 

Before Loki went to Asgard, he had only seen Sigyn a few times in his life. Still, after his… entanglement with Thor, Loki thought he ought to confess his trespass to his betrothed, since it had not just been an issue of the flesh but of the heart as well. So off to Sigyn he went.

But then, what in Loki’s mind was going to be a cool, succinct confession, spare in details and sentiment, and followed by his royal self on his knee, begging her forgiveness in the most formal, collected manner, had ended up with Loki sobbing grossly on her lap and her gentle hand on his hair, soothing and tender. They had become very close ever since, and soon Loki had realised he had a true friend in her. They were now perfect confidantes and allies. The more he trusted her and sought her advice in an ever-widening range of issues, the wiser and more sensible she revealed herself to be, full of innovative solutions and practicality, feet firmly on the ground but sights elevated and clear, always the whole picture in her mind. Soon Loki was coming to her for all matters, of family, heart, and realm, until she had become an indispensable aid in the tasks of government, his right hand. She was such an apt politician, with a very insightful eye into needs and wants and hidden intentions and such a deft, careful hand to address them, and her loyalty to Loki was second to none.

Loki loved her dearly, though only as a sister (one that was much more supportive, and a lot less pushy, than the actual flesh of his flesh); Sigyn seemed to love him too only in this manner. They would have to be wed in time, of course, and learn to regard each other not so mildly. Loki struggled to picture this scenario in his mind, but he consoled himself with the thought that, though they may not be the most ardent lovers, they would surely be both good, sensible parents and a most capable and wise king and queen. If not to put wings in their thoughts and emotions, at least their marriage was bound to usher forth a great era of peace and prosperity for Jotunheim, which was after all what they both wanted most. 

They bade their time in a small withdrawing chamber, chatting quietly with some refreshments, until it was time to make their entrance.

In time, they came to fetch them.

“Milord, they expect you,” announced the chamberlain, with a bow.

“Shall we, dear?” said Loki, offering his arm. 

Sigyn held it, and they stood before the King’s doors to the great hall. The pages pushed them in, and the chamberlain announced them.

“His majesty, Loki son of Laufey, king of Jotunheim, the Northern Seas, and all the isles! Her Ladyship Sigyn Freyasdottir!”

They stepped in. All the guests had their faces turned towards them, and almost as one they all bowed. Loki acknowledged it with a nod. They descended down the few steps and began to receive courtesies and greetings.

“Your majesty, Lady Sigyn.”

“Lord Hefring, how good to see you.”

“Your majesty, Lady Sigyn.”

“Lady Kolga, I’m most glad you could come.”

“Your majesty, Lady Sigyn.”

“Lord Ryg and Lady Unn, it has been a long time. Lord Vörnir, how is your mother? Lord Geirröd, I read your latest poem, very intriguing. Lady Aurvandil, glad to see you back from your journey, you must tell me all your adventures. Lord Bolthorn...”

This continued for nearly two hours. Unlike other powerful men, Loki had a formidable memory for names, faces, and connexions, familial or otherwise, without an aide following around and whispering them in his ear; he could always call to mind a detail or anecdote to show that he could single out an individual from the crowd, making every courtier glow with pride. This was an invaluable resource in his business. It earned him many loyalties and many heartfelt devotions, at a very cheap price. But it was so exhausting.

“Loki, dear.”

“Angie, darling”

Angrboda. Finally, a face he was actually happy to see. He kissed her cheek.

“How splendid you look,” she said. “I heard from my seamstress that the House of Glam had received a most unusual commission from the palace for the birthday of the king. I’m sorry we couldn’t make it.”

“I was born at an unfortunate time of the year for road travel,” said Loki. “Don’t trouble yourself, you didn’t miss much. I wasn’t in the mood for celebrations.”

“Oh, sweetie,” she chuckled lightly, both pitying and mocking his woes.

Angrboda was a stunning woman, as tall as many men, her temperament fiery and arresting. She had many lovers but no husband. She had no wish to marry, and as a _seidrmaer_ , she was not required to. Loki had been to see her some time after returning from Asgard, when time refused to ease his melancholy. He had been much infatuated with Angrboda once, and being the whirlwind that she was, he had quite hoped to be swept off his feet, and thus take one nail out with another. His stratagem had failed entirely. He could not muster the right, um, interest. All he wished to do was sigh and pine and cry, and moan that the king of Asgard had ruined him forever. Angrboda did not take it badly. Instead, she had demanded to know all there was to know about this extraordinary specimen who had managed to steal Loki’s heart so thoroughly.

“Oh Loki, baby, you gotta tell me all!” were her exact words. “I want every juicy detail!”

When he had spoken to Sigyn, he had been discreet and reserved. With Angrboda, he was able to delve into every second in glorious, colourful depth. It had almost been like reliving it. 

“And then he ( _whisper whisper_ )…”

“Oh my fjords!”

“I _know_ , right?! But oh when he… ( _whisper whisper whisper_ ) and then I… ( _whisper whisper, whisper!_ )...”

“Loki Mörtmyr Laufeyson, you total _slut_!” she had squealed, laughing. 

There had been ooh-ing and aah-ing, and laughing, and blushing, some drinking, and in summary, it had been fan-fucking-tastic. They had talked till the morn, braided each other’s hair, gossiped about pretty much everyone they knew, laughed with old stories, and Loki endured with good humour Angrboda’s teasing about their brief affair.

“I always knew what you really were into was a good dicking,” she had sentenced at one point.

“I wish you had fucking shared this particular bit of insight. Would have spared me many headaches and humiliation,” he had grumbled, though he wasn’t upset. Not with all that sweet wine singing in his head. He sighed. Then he whined, “Oh, Angie, I’m so fucking _desperate_. I can’t think of anything but him. The dreams I have! I wish they left me alone! It’s like I live again all that happened!”

“Doesn’t sound like a problem to me,” laughed his friend.

“Well, it bloody is! When I wake up, everything feels as fresh as if it had happened only yesterday, and the bloody pain comes back again in full force. I am _craving_ , goddammit. I am on fucking fire all the time! I’m going to embarrass myself any day!” One more sigh.

“Sweetheart, we need to find you a good stud,” she said. 

“I don’t want just any stud, I want him…” he whined stubbornly.

“I know my darling, but a good rogering never did anyone any harm. Have you noticed how Svadilfari looks at you?”

How he had blushed.

“Maybe…”

“Now that is one fine ride of a man!”

“Oh, hush. I’m sure he’s moved on by now.”

“I’m pretty sure he hasn’t,” she said, with a knowing wink.

“Oh! Do tell! Tell me all!”

That had been a wonderful night. In the last nineteen months, Loki had made his best to ensure that there more, as many as he could slip into his very tight schedule. Laughing at his own misery and foolishness with Angrboda was, as of yet, the only relief he had been able to find with any sort of effect on his suffering and yearning. Temporary it may be, but it was better than naught.

 

“He’s here, have you seen him?” muttered Angrboda, conspiring. “Svad.”

“Yes, I have,” he mumbled, with a fluster.

“Oh don’t turn! He’s totally checking you out right now.”

“Oh sweet Norns, is he?”

“He’s coming over!”

Loki went into a minor flap. 

“Oh, poor glob of horny jelly, you,” she giggled.

“Your majesty,” said that baritone, rich voice.

Loki turned towards it, with a plunge in his stomach.

“Lord Svadilfari,” he said, as evenly as he could.

“Your majesty, you are a sight for sore eyes tonight,” said Svadilfari.

“Only tonight?” teased Loki.

Svadilfari regaled him with a warm chuckle.

“Oh, I have not yet spoken to your sister!” said Angrboda suddenly. “If you excuse me, Lo. A pleasure to see you, as always, Lord Svad.” The last bit, she purred.

“Milady,” said Svad, with a bow.

Alone now, king and lord, ambling slowly, without real purpose, around the hall —it’s just that should they stop, somebody was bound to approach, wishing to speak to the King, and neither wished to be interrupted. 

Loki’s heart was beating a little faster. Svadilfari was a most impressive man, bulky and muscular. The features of his face, at once virile and sweetened with a boyish quality, and the long mane of hair… He was like a dark copy of Thor.  Even his skin was inked, and some lines were visible creeping up his taut, strong neck. Loki was guilty of having wondered how deep beneath his clothes they did go, what they depicted. Svadilfari always conveyed an impression of potency, of an intensity and strength which seemed barely subdued under his courtly demeanour, but always bubbling under fancy attire and manners, always one breath away from running off the leash. It had always unnerved Loki, Svadilfari’s intensity, and made him feel small and skittish. Now, of course, he knew the real reason for his nervousness. Which did not ease his jitters in the least as he walked beside him.

He had seen Svad at court three or four times since coming back from Asgard. Svad’s words had expressed nothing but kind, polite interest, but his eyes fell on Loki, heavy and heated, and the young king kept finding himself aggrieved by the driest throat whenever he was in his presence. For his part, Loki had showed only reserved appreciation for the attention received, but could not reciprocate, even if he had wanted to – which, deep inside, or not so deeply, he didn’t, not really. He was grieving, all the kindling inside wet with tears and quite impervious to fire.

But tonight… Oh, he was fed up with himself. It had been nineteen goddamn months. How much longer did he intend to mourn what had been but a dream, brief and insubstantial, quickly dispelled in the sunlight as if it had never been? For what did he have to show for it that was real? A few promises? A small stack of letters, ink smudged with his weeping? There were his first night presents, of course -two magnificent beasts, stallion and mare, which had already produced one splendid colt; the spices which today garnished many dishes, the guests marveling over flavours never experienced before; stunning fabrics from the four corners of Yggdrasil made into gowns, tunics, and capes the royal family tonight wore… But to Loki’s heart and skin that hungered so desperately, they held no nourishment and no balm. In the end, it all amounted to nothing.

“Is your mood any brighter than it was?” enquired Svadilfari. “When I last saw you on the occasion of your birthday, there was a shadow that dimmed the light in your eyes.”

Svadilfari was delicate. The whole kingdom knew what was eating up their king from the inside. It was rather humiliating, on top of it all.

“My mood is as it was,” admitted Loki. “I seem to find no relief for my woes. I have tried pretending that they do not exist, but that doesn’t seem to do much good at all. ” He sighed deeply. “Do you know what it is, Lord Svadilfari, to yearn in vain?”

For a few slow steps, a meaningful silence.

“Yes, I do.”

Oh. Oh dear. What a stumble. Loki didn’t know what to say to that.

Their slow perambulation had taken them to the doors leading to the balcony from where Loki had greeted the crowds on the day of his coronation. It opened to the citadel’s main square. They stepped outside where it was quiet.  

The dark city could be seen slumbering below, and beyond the walls, the black night sea at the bottom of the cliff. It was the peak of summer, and while never warm in Jotunheim, of course, the night was fragrant and balmy, the sea wind tamed to a fresh breeze that caressed the cheeks rather than cutting them. The full moon hung lonely in the clear sky, its light drowning the stars. The wind carried on its back the sound of mighty waves, muted by the distance, a song which Loki loved. With that thought, Loki noted that the silence between them wasn’t as excruciating as he would have feared.

“And what is it that you do about it?” said Loki eventually. “Your yearning.”

“When my melancholy wouldn’t lift for days on end, mother and father came to me with unsolicited advice and insisted on imparting it.”

“Oh? Any that was wise?”

“Well, father’s answer to everything is fresh air and physical exertion,” said Svad, and continued faking a hoarser, older voice: “Seek the sunlight where it may be, strain your body to exhaustion, and sweat out the laments of your spirit away.”

Loki chuckled lightly, and Svadilfari’s eyes glimmered with cheer at that sound.

“I tried your father’s remedy myself,” he said. “Did you?”

“He wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

“And did it work for you? Because, as you noted earlier, my mood is a glum as ever.”

“No, it didn’t work,” said Svadilfari. “I still yearn as acutely as before.”

They took a few more steps in thoughtful silence. How strange, thought Loki, to hear such direct confessions and carry on as if he was oblivious as to whom they referred.

The balcony narrowed down to a veranda, and then one encountered a few steps leading to a little walled garden below.

“And your mother’s advice?” asked Loki.

“She’s a practical woman, and her temperament is not of a romantic nature. As should be evident to all, for she married my father.”

Loki laughed again, and it made Svad grin broadly this time.

“Not one for romance,” he continued, “but insightful and observant. She guessed at once the nature of my woes, but since these kinds of emotions do not much afflict her, her advice was… well, of a rather ruthless, practical kind. She advised me to seek the company of another.”

“Oh,” said Loki, for he sensed now that the two conversations running side by side under the disguise of a single one had reached a critical point. He had to be mindful of his words. He asked, “Isn’t that unfair to that other one?”

“I don’t believe so, no,” said Svadilfari, his speech also loaded with deliberation. “Not when the cards are on the table and both sides enter the agreement with their eyes fully open. Do you not agree?”

Loki did not reply.

“Did you follow her advice?”

A heavy pause, while Svadilfari considered perhaps the ramifications of his reply.

“I did,” he said at last.

“And did it soothe your sorrows?”

“For a while,” said Svadilfari. “But how am I to forget my heart’s desire when he is more beautiful and more full of charms every time I set eyes on him?”

Loki blushed, his insides stirred by a little thrum of excitement. He lowered his eyes demurely to his steps, which treaded cobble and moss.

“So, I suppose you cannot recommend this remedy,” he said, sly.

“On the contrary,” said Svadilfari with intensity. “I must urge you.”

Loki smiled, couldn’t help himself.

“Rather a contradiction.”

“I don’t claim to be wise,” said Svadilfari. “But mayhap my mother’s council has greater effect when the cause of one’s suffering is removed for good from sight and hearing.”

Loki choked up hearing that. For good? Oh, Thor…

“And on whom should I then inflict such a fraught, incomplete, and selfish attention?” said Loki, now perturbed, and irritated too, for some reason. 

“I do not believe it's selfish to seek comfort in another who desires to provide it," said Svadilfari softly, almost meekly. "You should choose one who is strong and steadfast in his spirit, and truly cares for you -woes, heartbreak, and all. One who knows his place, and wishes for nothing more than to offer solace and company.”

“And nothing more?” 

“One who knows how things stand, and will not ask for what cannot be,” said Svadilfari.

“You think me cruel, to suggest I should toy with anyone’s hopes in this manner.” He tried to rub the sour sensation in his stomach away. “Do forgive me, Lord Svadilfari, but I feel I could not give anything back to such a generous, self-sacrificing offer, not even my gratitude.”

“I see.”

“My heart was stolen, and then broken,” Loki elaborated further, apologetic. “What’s left is not worth sharing, and I know not when I shall be growing a new one.”

Lord Svadilfari smiled without cheer, but with warmth.

“Well, I have heard that, as is the case with all the things that grow, what is needed in such cases is a gentle, experienced hand, constant and patient.”

Loki met that lightless smile, glowing still with good will, and returned one of his own, with some humor thrown in for good measure.

“Why, Lord Svadilfari, an architect, a horse breeder, an able ruler, a great sailor, and a gardener too?” he teased.

Svadilfari chuckled. 

“I’m afraid nothing much grows in my land save for the hard pastures for the cattle and the seaweed in the sea, which quite tends to itself until harvest time.”

“Well, that is a pity. A gentle hand which is also constant and patient never goes amiss.”

“You have mine,” said Svadilfari solemnly, “always.”

It is always affecting to be offered unconditional loyalty, of any kind. Loki didn't think he would ever become accustomed to it. Finding it hard to meet Svadilfari's earnest stare, he turned around, his eyes on the night garden, only the moonlight striking silver sparkles off tips of leaves and stone.

“There is no other place like this in all of Jotunheim,” he sighed, delighting in the rare pocket of exuberance of the queen’s garden. “My mother planted it with her hands and spent many hours here.”

“I met your mother, fair Farbauti. A kind, wise woman.”

“Is it wrong I often think I am glad of her premature death, that she never lived to see my father plunge into his illness?”

“Right or wrong, I would understand such a feeling. King Laufey was a man before he was a king. Before, and ultimately; while the kingdom suffered for his slow decay, his loved ones suffered the most; and while the country can recover fully from difficult times, and its wounds heal completely, the scars on Laufey's family's lives may never disappear. You too were and are a man before you were king. Of course you would want to spare your mother what you suffered.”

A few steps in silence.

“Do you know, my lord,” said Svadilfari playfully, “that we in the north fashion ourselves kings in our own land?”

Loki smiled, and was grateful for the change of tune.

“I do,” he said Loki, affecting a curt tone. “It’s very cheeky of you northerners. I’m on my way tomorrow to reign in those delusions of grandeur.”

Svadilfari laughed.

“And have you heard then of the legends of our ancestors, in which there is no ill a king’s touch cannot cure?”

“I detest them,” grouched Loki, “the commoners are always asking me to lay my hands on their heads.”

Svadilfari laughed again, and Loki preened a little.

“Do you not believe them, then, the legends?” asked Svad.

Loki may have been adding two and two together from the number of leading questions Svad had put to him just now. 

“As a man of science, I am skeptical,” said Loki. As he ambled around the garden, his back was turned to Svad. “But likewise, it is not fitting to dismiss a theory out of hand. One must experiment first.” And he cast a coy look over his shoulder.

Svad smiled mischievously, and stepped closer. He slowly reached for Loki’s hand. Loki’s pulse began to run faster.

“If you are king, and I am king, and the old legends have it, we may just be able to cure each other’s ills,” murmured Svadilfari warmly, complicit, as if conspiring. His big, rough, hard-working hands enfolded Loki’s completely, so dark against Loki’s alabaster skin. He stroked delicately, then he stared up from under his lashes. “Well, I feel better myself already. And your majesty?”

Loki struggled with an intangible choke. His heart was beating hard.

“Perhaps,” he said, with not a lot of voice, and certainly not an excess of smoothness. “I’m not sure.”

Svad stepped closer, his eyes glinting in the moonlight, fixed on Loki. He raised Loki’s hand to his lips and pressed a kiss onto the palm. This too had immediate, quite obvious effects in Loki's breathing and pulse.

“And now?” asked Svadilfari, his eyes so close, unyielding. “I definitely felt something. Perhaps one must involve the lips? Research so far seems to suggest so.”

Loki chuckled. He was nervous, but he was also rather charmed.

“That is three times I have heard you laugh this evening," mused Svad with a whisper. "Such a pleasant sound. I’ve always thought so, but I could not imagine just how much more delight it would carry when it was myself that brought it about.”

Loki grinned and lowered his gaze, self-conscious now.

“You have done much tonight to ease my burdens,” he muttered.

“I am glad,” said Svad. “May I do more?” He leaned an inch closer, looming above him — not a threat, but a comforting shelter in the storm.

Nineteen months. Nineteen bleeding months torn between hope and doubt, and the growing realisation that both were unjustified and out of place, for there was only certainty left now in all this sad affair, and that was that there would never be a tomorrow for Thor and him. Loki, you fool, you have waited long enough for your sorrows to ease up by themselves. You cannot mourn forever. Perhaps it is time that you rushed things along.

He stared up at Svadilfari for a breath, then shut his eyes.

“Yes, do,” he murmured, tipping his head back in offering.

Svadilfari kissed him softly, nothing but a touch.

“Yes, indeed, it must have something to do with a king’s lips,” he whispered. “I am cured.”

Loki chuckled warmly. Svadilfari took him in his arms and kissed him again, more deeply this time. And what do you know? Those butterflies in Loki’s belly, which he had believed long dead? A couple of them fluttered alive, and though they didn’t quite take flight, yet Loki felt them.

 

____________________________

 

 

Ah, everything looks just perfect, from the decorations to the guests, thought Byleistr to herself as she took yet another tour around the great hall. She could exchange pleasantries with the guests without fully engaging her attention, that’s how adept she had become at this game. All she cared about right now was that her dress was on point, nothing like the fatigues she had worn when she had journeyed to Asgard, that the decorations of the hall and the dishes served were as grand and sophisticated as any, and that it all reflected her good taste, and showed off the best that Jotunheim had to offer. Nothing but perfection would do. She had worked for many months to make tonight happen, intriguing behind his brother’s back. It was rather unnerving, actually, that it was now out of his hands, and all that was left was to wait.

For the umpteenth time, she had a thorough, systematic look around, while in her mind she ticked items off her checklist. It all seemed in order, but something was niggling at her. Something was amiss. What?

 _Oh_. 

She approached Helblindi, stationed beside the food.

“Where’s Loki?”

“I have no idea,” said her brother. “He disappeared in that general direction.”

“And why on Yggdrasil do you look so smug?”

Helblindi looked positively smarmy, and stuffed a fruit roll in his gob.

“Lord Svadilfari was with him,” he replied, spitting crumbs.

Byleistr’s face was drained of colour, her eyes snapped wide.

“ _What_!?” She had been much too loud, several heads had turned, and she wasn’t even concerned about it at the moment. “How long have they been gone?”

“Long enough,” said his brother, wiggling his eyebrows.

“Fires of Muspelheim! We need to find them!”

“Leave the poor kid alone, let him have a bit of fun for once.”

“You don’t get it!” she cried, beginning to hyperventilate. “We need to find him _now_!”

“Why?” said Helblindi, disarmed.

“It’s very important!” insisted Byleistr, clasping his brother’s arms, and shaking him. “Now!”

Helblindi’s eyebrows showed reluctant intrigue. Then, that sound of trumpets and horns.

“Why are they sounding the royal fanfares?” he asked.

Byleistr lost what little composure she had left, and also the last dregs of colour from her face.

“Shit,” she gasped, breathless, “He’s here.”

“Who?”

Do not panic, By, whatever you do, _do not panic_. She swallowed.

“We need to find Loki now, understand?” she hissed menacingly. “And by now I mean yesterday!”

“Your Highness, he has arrived,” informed Udr, a page who had been in on it for a couple of weeks. He was panting from a good run.

“Keep him away! Ask him to wait!”

“I did all I could, but he would not be kept. He said he’d been waiting long enough. He’s on his way now.”

“We are doomed,” murmured Byleistr.

“What the Helheim is going on, By?” asked Hel.

Just then, from behind the hidden panel opening to the corridor that lead to the queen’s secret garden, an utterly disheveled Loki appeared, his hair a wild mess, his mouth blushed pink, his royal markings smudged and blurred. And in case he didn’t look obvious enough, right behind him was Lord Svadilfari in a matching state of disarray.

Byleistr sighed in despair.

“What is going on?” asked Loki. “Who ordered to sound the royal fanfares?”

Bang on cue, the far doors of the great hall opened, and a small party stepped in. And at its head… 

“Ymir’s cow,” gasped Hel.

The chamberlain, unflappable and dutiful, announced without a hitch,

“Thor son of Odin, King of Asgard, Overlord of the Nine Realms!”

Loki’s voice, a strangled little squeak.

“Oh, boy.”

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh poor Svadilfari, boo hoo. Grieving done? Let's focus here, folks. We're supposed to be Thorki shippers, yah?


	2. An icy welcome

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which shots are fired, a little sister fears for her life, and friends and family all pull together to avoid the potential bloodshed.

 

Loki stood frozen in place, watching helplessly as the man who was both the light of his life and the bane of his existence strutted majestically towards him. At his side, his brother; behind, his closest friends. And parting to let them through, witness to Loki’s impending doom, the entire Jotun court, every single pair of eyes in the room turned towards them. Even those who bowed their heads as Thor walked by, quickly looked up again as soon as they could, that they may not miss a blink of the scene unfurling before them. 

And quite a scene it would be. Loki was only too aware of his disheveled appearance, the throbbing of his lips, and Svadilfari’s presence right beside him. They had nowhere to hide.

But as Thor approached, Loki’s mind began to fill with echoes of the agony of the last nineteen months, and the memory of Thor’s vain promises, and Loki’s own firm, clear command: _cease and desist_ , he had told him time and again, _ask to visit no more; I shall not become another bead in your string of pearls. If you respect me and love me as you say, you shall stop tormenting me with the futile temptation of what cannot be, and let me move on with my life._

And yet, here he was now, Thor. That was the extent of his love and his respect for Loki. Because he was Thor King, Overlord of the Nine Realms, and he took what he wanted and did as he pleased, arrogant prig. Loki could not fucking believe his gall! No, he refused to see this as a show of impetuousness or romantic temperament, a lover made presumptuous and overly bold under the pull of his passion. He saw it as Thor refusing to take a no for an answer, turning up here without warning or permission because he fucking felt like it, and fully expecting, Loki was sure, to be received into Loki’s bed with open legs. Well, fuck you, your majesty, I am not the tender, naive little thing you thoroughly wrecked nineteen months ago. This is my house, this is my kingdom, and you, bullheaded oafcake, outrageous muscles and blond mane blowing in the wind or not, are not the overlord of _me_.

Thor stood before him with all his party.

“Thor King,” said Loki, with haughty self-possession and perfectly dignified, in spite of his rather indecent appearance.

“Your majesty,” replied the Asgardian. There was a clench in his jaw revealing all the emotion the rest of him could not indulge in, not in front of the entire Jotun court. 

“It’s been a _long_ time,” said Loki, king of nasty emphases.

“Too long, apparently,” replied Thor between his teeth, with a quick, eloquent flick of his eyes, the cruelest shade of steel today, to Lord Svadilfari.

Byleistr stepped in, standing physically between the two of them.

“Thor King, we welcome you and your companions,” she said with abruptness, her wide, narrow-pupiled eyes betraying a slight manic mood. So much tension! “We are delighted that you could make it in time for the party. When the messenger that was supposed to announce your arrival in advance did not come, we feared the worst.”

“The envoys were sent,” said Thor curtly. “Before our crossing to the island. But they faced the winds, and us the winds favoured. We set foot on land at the same time, and in my eagerness to arrive, we rode without rest and left them behind. I suppose I should not have been so eager.” Yet another meaningful glower at Loki and Svadilfari.

“What a wonderful party it is,” intervened Balder, nerves quickening his words as well. He held the princess’ hands and bowed. “We are honoured, and greatly overjoyed to be here. Prince Helblindi, it’s a pleasure to see you again. You do remember our friends, the lady Sif, and the lords Hogun, Volstagg, and Fandral.”    

Helblindi too stepped in the space between to bow courteously to each guest in turn, and some more pleasantries were exchanged. Now there was something akin to a human wall between Thor and Loki, but they could still see each other, and one could feel it in the air, making the hair of the back of the neck stand on end.

“Is the Lord Heimdall not with you?” asked Loki casually. “I can’t see him. Have you left him behind, or is he hiding behind the curtains somewhere?”

Thor laughed, without making any effort to sound sincerely amused.

“My dear friend and trusted advisor is in Asgard, making sure everything runs smoothly while I’m gone. As a guest in foreign lands, I thought I’d better do as the Jotuns do, and don’t you say around these parts, oh, how does the expression go, that three is a crowd?” Thor turned to Svadilfari and said,  with venomous politeness, “I don’t think we have met.”

“Thor King, this is Lord Svadilfari of Vestanland, the Western Mark,” announced Byleistr, with a bit of a twitch in her eye.

“It’s a great honour, milord,” said Svadilfari with due humility, head bowed, fist on his chest. “I have heard much about your great deeds, as has everyone throughout Yggdrasil.”

“I, on the other hand, had heard nothing about _you_ ,” purred Thor, a tiger sharpening his nails, incidentally showing them off in their full, lethal glory. 

“What is there to tell? I am but the humble lord of an isolated province, not a great warrior like your majesty,” smiled Svadilfari, his demeanour just as deceptively tame and relaxed —like a lion’s deadly yawn.

“I’faith, by the looks of you, I could have sworn you were the entire Jotun army!” joked Thor, his humour laced with menace.

Svadilfari chuckled slowly, fangs glinting in the lamplight.

“Thor King flatters me, but in truth we haven’t known war in this kingdom for a generation, thank the Norns and the prudent dealings of the house of Laufey.”

“So with what, pray, does a man of such mighty build occupy his time and his muscles in these parts?” asked Thor, and though addressing Svadilfari, he was staring at Loki, unblinking.

“Lord Svadilfari is a great architect,” said Loki, cutting. “He devised and conducted the fortification of this city, and the long defences against the pirates in the eastern coast, both full of cunning innovations; he’s also contrived new ways to build roofs, as beautiful as they are clever, saving in materials and improving their performance all around.”

“How very interesting,” said Thor. “Would you care to enlighten me someday, my lord?” 

“But remember to use plain terms that a layman can understand, Lord Svad,” advised Loki, icily. “Asgardians are not much for building at all, you see.”

Byleistr cleared her throat loudly. Her instinct was telling her it wasn’t a good idea to let his brother call the Overlord of the Nine Realms an ignorant in front of the whole court.

“You have had a good journey, I hope?” she intervened.

“I thought the crossing was quite hazardous, but I am told it was average,” answered Balder, helpfully. “We in Asgard are not used to boats, you know? Or the ocean.”

Byleistr saw the intention in Loki’s eyes before he even opened his mouth. Oh, noes.

“Lord Svadilfari is the chief commander of the Jotun fleet,” informed Loki with well-honed smugness. “He’s one of our best sailors, and has led three successful campaigns against the pirates.”

“Three? Not so successful then,” jabbed Thor.

“Pirates are like a weed,” said Svadilfari, smooth and mellow. “I suspect one is never quite finished with them. Much like the bandits that roam the plain. I’m sure Asgardians do their best, and yet, they always turn up again, don’t they?”

Thor’s turn to squint viciously.

“And guess what, Thor King! Svad breeds the best horses and riding cattle in the land!” volunteered Helblindi.

Several people on either side, and several in the court surrounding them, cursed internally Laufey’s eldest's big mouth.

“Another horseman indeed!” exclaimed Thor. “How about that! So much in common!” Oh, those blue eyes could burn. Then he mused conversationally, “I was aware that, to the untrained eye, one horse is like any other, but the horsemen too?” A genial chuckle, which did nothing at all whatsoever to take some heat off what he had just said, or what he was going to say next. “Well, I suppose, as long as they can ride...”

Loki gasped with affront, but he might as well save it for later, because Thor was only just getting started.

“But we have much to talk about together, Lord Svadilfari!” said the king of Asgard, in the amiable tone of one who’s putting one arm around your shoulder, only trying to find where best to stab you. “Perhaps not architecture or sailing, since I am grossly ignorant of both arts, as our dear Loki King has justly noted, and I’m afraid you would grow bored of the conversation soon enough. But perhaps we can talk horsemanship! I’m sure we’ll have many stories and much wisdom to share, and some common complains to vent too. For example, Lord Svadilfari, from a man of the open fields to another, do you too find life in court as constricting and smothering as I? All that faffing around bowing and curtseying, all that gossip and secret-mongering, all those little people always talking talking talking, and rarely a thing is spoken that’s worth hearing. Do you not soon find your limbs full of ants, and as impatient for fresh air as our best studs huffing in their stalls? I avoid the court as much as I possibly can, which is never enough, and when I have to endure it, I always feel like I’m wasting away! Though I suppose you don’t have that problem here, with King Loki in charge. It’s plain to see that he has come up with a way to keep his best men from ever going soft!”

There were a number of shocked gasps, a few sniggers and chuckles disguised as coughs and harrumphs, and one snort covered with a fake sneeze. Loki, in the meantime, was fucking _livid_ , gritting his teeth so tight his jaws might just fuse together. 

And then, of course, Thor charged again.

“I was so much looking forwards to this journey! So much to learn! And I have indeed learned much already. For example, your majesty, we spoke about the traditional markings of your people, do you remember? Now I finally get to see them! I remember you roughly summed up for me their meanings and importance. Please enlighten this foreigner, where does one read allegiance? Around the mouth?”

“Thor King,” cut in an even, cultivated, charming voice. “I am Angrboda of Blárfjalland. It is a great pleasure and an honour to meet you at last.” She was offering her hand for Thor to kiss. Thor took it without a thought. Probably an ingrained reflex, so many years in the business. Then Angrboda grabbed his arm and swished him away as she walked. (She did that often. Her grip was slight, but her pull was irresistible.) “Walk with me, Thor King, behold the hall of our ancestors. It’s well worth a look.”

They progressed through the hall, and the courtiers, after a bow, were forced to stop gawking and pretend to be busy with their own conversations. Angrboda’s caressing voice was said to tame beasts and even the storm, and now she was casting her calming spell over the king of Asgard with a little lesson in the local history of art.

“King Laufey’s father Bergelmir built it when he moved the capital from Svellhaer, in the northern domains, to the south, that the see of power of Jotunheim be closer to the continent and the modern trade routes. But he wished to make it as magnificent as the King’s Palace in the north he had left behind, which is built entirely of ice. Thus, the white blue-veined marble which lines walls, floors, and ceiling, which he sought out in the remote quarries of Ulfheim. See here? The marble is carved thin as paper, that in the daytime the sunlight shines through it, as it does in Svellbaer. See the rock crystal encrusted in the columns? And in the ceiling, there, and there? When the sun hits a certain way, those prisms bathe the hall in rainbows, to remind one of the northern lights. Old King Bergelmir nearly brought the country down with debt when he built it, and some say it was trying to meet the repayments that brought poor Laufey to insanity, but you have to admit it’s magnificent.”

“It is truly a sight to behold,” said Thor, with sincere appreciation. “It might be the most extraordinary man-made place I have ever seen.”

“I hear the hall of Vanaheim is just as splendid,” said Loki behind them, not missing a beat. “I hear the columns are in actuality petrified trees as old as the world itself, encrusted with pearls of amber, and that the vaulted roof is covered with many pieces of metal and glass and gems and glazed ceramic in infinite shades of green, to resemble the canopy of a forest. That the ceiling is dotted with skylights, and when it’s daytime, the sun breaks through, and one feels as if strolling deep in the woods. I’m sure our humble abode must be quite disappointing next to that,” finished Loki stiffly.

Thor turned to look at him, and spoke without malice this time.

“I assure you, my king, they are both equal in beauty, wit, and skill.”

“Equal,” spat Loki, far from soothed. “And what of Lord Rogers’ hall?”

“I am sure you’ll find this of great interest, your majesty,” cut in Angrboda, leading Thor towards the space beside the throne, which sported a magnificent fresco. “It is a map of Jotunheim, as accurate and up to date as possible, commissioned by our dear king Loki upon his coronation.” She pointed. “We are here. And this, here, is my country, Blárfjalland, the Blue Mountains. Deep within these mountains are the mines whence we obtain the _blársteinn_ , the mineral the secret of which infuses our holy blue ointment with its powers.”

“Lady Angrboda is one of the wisest and most learned in the land” said Loki, while Thor examined the map closely. “She has conducted extensive research on the _blársteinn_ , its properties and nature, and has found many new applications for it.”

“I must bow to you, then,” Thor turned to her. “My father was a man of great learning, and taught me to always bear the deepest respect for the wise ones.”

“Bow to our dear king you must then, your majesty,” said Angrboda, “for he too is a scholar in his own right. He was sent to us as a child so that he could complete his education with my mother, who also instructed me. What a great _Seidrmadr_ he would have made, perhaps the greatest one, if the obligations and servitudes of kingship had not plucked him from our side.”

“So you two go back then,” said Thor conversationally.

“We do,” she grinned, “We know each other _very_ well.”

Thor’s eyebrows expressed intent, playful curiosity.

“Thor King,” interrupted Loki. “You haven’t met the Lady Sigyn.” He was holding her arm, keeping her close. Thor’s eyes went from Loki’s arm to his face. “My betrothed.”

Thor’s eyes widened, looked from Loki to Sigyn, to Loki again, then he bowed deeply.

“It’s an honour, Lady Sigyn.”

“Thor King, we meet at last.”

“She’s as precious to me as the Lord Heimdall is to you, wise and prudent in council,” said Loki tightly.

Thor kept staring from one to the other, something in his mind.

“Don’t Jotun kings traditionally marry on their coronation day?” he asked.

“Again asking questions to which you already know the answer, your majesty?” piqued Loki.

“Verily, I have read extensively about Jotunheim,” said Thor stiffly. “That is why I’m surprised, and I must enquire.”

Loki fixed him with a green, cold stare, and pondered just how civilised his answer would be. He opted for informative and polite, though cold.

“When I took the crown, the country was in great need, and it required all my attention,” said Loki. Not a lie, nor the whole truth either. “We will be wed soon.”

“I see,” said Thor, suddenly subdued. “I was not told.”

“Why should you have been?” said Loki.

There was a _moment_ , no words, much spoken. Loki looked away.

“It is a great pity your arrival should coincide with my departure,” he said curtly. “I am set to embark on a long tour of the northern counties tomorrow, and with many great and costly preparations already undertaken by those who are to host the royal party, I cannot possibly cancel or delay my journey. If only I had been informed of your coming in advance.”

“Oh, my dear brother, do not trouble yourself!” said Byleistr, a hysterical note in her voice. “The Lords up north are expecting Thor King.”

“ _What?!_ ”

Byleistr tried her best angel face. She was too nervous to pull it off. Good job they were in public and Loki had to hold back what he thought and felt about this particular new bit of information.

“I see,” said Loki, his tone so sharp, someone might just lose an ear from simply hearing those sibilants. “Well, in that case, since we all have a long journey tomorrow, we better cut the evening short. Chamberlain, the king is retiring for the night. Dismiss the court and make preparations at once to lodge our Asgardian guests as befits their station.”

“It has all been prepared, sir,” reported the chamberlain.

Loki threw a fresh glare towards his sister, who cowered. 

“Indeed. Princess Byleistr, a word? Wait for me in the green room.”

“My King,” bowed By, and made a runner.

Helblindi followed after, stuttering,

“And I’ll… Just in case… I mean… Yeah.”

“Lady Angrboda, dearest, good night,” said Loki, kissing her cheek.

“Are you sure you do not wish me to stay?” she offered, in a whisper.

“I don’t know, were you in on it too?” hissed Loki.

Angrboda stared severely.

“Now, Loki, really,” she chided.

Loki lowered his eyes, chastised, and nodded sharply.

Svadilfari next. Loki’s heart was beating hard, feeling Thor’s eyes burning the back of his neck. With the thought of what they had been up to earlier this evening, and the unholy mess they were all in, Loki had no idea how to behave or what to say.

“Milord,” he tried.

“My King.” Svadilfari bowed deeply. “Good night.”

He let Svadilfari hold his hand and kiss it, and felt the eyes of the entire hall fixed on them both. Well, that had not been too bad.

The Asgardians last. First part was easy enough, simple hospitality.

“I hope you shall be comfortable. Ask for whatever you need, my house is at your service.” And he finally dared to meet Thor’s eyes. 

He trembled like a stupid fucking flame under so much blue and gold, and season upon season of memories and yearnings suddenly converging into one powerful, real, bodily presence, like a punch in his stomach, and was out of words.

“It’s been a great pleasure,” said Sigyn, quick as a flash, as Loki looked away. “I shall look forward to knowing you better. Especially you, Thor King, whom I have heard so much about.”

Thor seemed momentarily discombobulated, either by her kindness, so obviously sincere, or by the burst of emotion in Loki’s gaze on him a moment ago, or both, it was hard to say. And although there was opportunity for it, had he wished to, he did not retort with a cutting remark, as he had been doing all night.

“My lady,” was all he said, with a bow of truthful respect.

“Good night, Thor King,” said Loki, still not bold enough to look straight at him.

Thor bowed down, and seemed about to say something else, but changed his mind.

Loki offered Sigyn his arm, and they majestically left the hall through the king’s gates, without a look back, and no, he did _not_ think for a second of Thor’s puppy eyes, following after them.

 

___________________

 

 

Byleistr was fidgeting and nervously wringing her hands in the green room, as she damn well should be.

“You. Start talking,” commanded Loki.

“What! I was only trying to help!” she whined. “You stopped answering his letters, and you were so miserable, and _he_ was so miserable, and-…”

“How the hell do you know how he felt?”

“Balder told me, and also-…”

“ _Balder_?!”

Byleistr went pale. Oops.

“You have been corresponding with Balder?” asked Loki, again as smooth as one of those blades so sharp that make it seem a bad idea even to look at them too closely. “Since when?”

“Uuuh…”

Loki managed to give a good impression of a bull preparing to charge.

“So let me get this straight,” he said, dangerously calm, “first of all, you’ve been corresponding behind your king’s back with a foreign power. And not only have you been relaying personal, private information about the king’s mood, _your_ king, whom you serve, and only the Norns know what else, but… you’ve been making plans with them? Preparing with the fucking Overlord of the Nine Realms a fucking official state visit and a tour of my kingdom, without my fucking permission of course, even without my goddamn knowledge? Are you fucking _mad_?” Okay, no more mister chill guy. “You have been fucking meddling with politics of a depth and reach you can't even fucking fathom! You have exposed me to ridicule in the face of my entire court! Do you have any fucking idea how much trouble you’re in?!” 

She might just be starting to, judging by the colour (or lack thereof) of her complexion. Good. 

“Now, dear sister,” again he modulated his voice to a dangerous whisper, “had I not made it clear enough, again and again, that I never bloody wanted to see Thor ever again?”

“But you were pining so hard, and you don’t have all the facts, and…!”

“ _What facts!_ ” roared Loki.

Byleistr regained some of her composure —or the way Loki saw it, her goddamn attitude.

“I’ll leave that to Thor. You have an entire tour of the north beside him, so you’ll need something to talk about.”

Loki went positively livid.

“I command you to tell me! I command you!” he said, choked with anger. 

“It’s not my place,” said she, chin up, lip tight. 

Loki was going to pop a goddamn blood vessel in his brain.

“Listen here, you…!”

“Darling,” said Sigyn softly, before he could explode into a rain of shrapnel.

“To your chambers,” he hissed to his sister. “You’re _so_ grounded.”

“Whatever,” she said, spinning on her heels and strutting away.

“ _YOU_!” yelled Loki, turning to Helblindi.

“Yes? What?” his brother snapped to attention.

“Were you in on it too?”

“Hel?” scoffed Byleistr from the threshold. “He cannot keep a secret to save his life. Don’t you remember he gets the giggles whenever he tries to tell a lie?”

“Hey, it’s a condition!” protested Hel.

“Well, you’re fucking grounded too!” screamed Loki.

“Me? Why?”

“Why weren’t you minding your sister! Do I have to do everything around here?”

“How am I supposed to know what she gets up to?”

“Then what the fuck is the use of you? Out of my sight! Before I get really fucking angry!”

The royal siblings scuttled (Helblindi’s voice just before he left the room, “ _Wait, can he even ground me? I’m the oldest…”_ ) 

 

The king stood in the green room, thinking about murder. A few steps to his side, Sigyn waited in silence. She wasn’t frightened, but she knew she needed to give him some space.

“Did _you_ know?” growled Loki a few moments later.

“Of course not,” she said calmly. “I would have told you.”

At least that. His rage receded somewhat.

“How bad is it,” asked Loki. “The court. I can’t think.”

“Oh, sweetie,” she muttered. And she considered his question. Ramifications, possible outcomes. “I’ll do some containment. By tomorrow, everyone will believe this was always your plan.”

He shut his eyes, sweet relief. It wasn’t even her words, it was her tone. She had his back. She would take charge, and everything was going to be okay.

And yet. There was still the bilgesnipe in the room.

“He’s here,” Loki muttered softly, with a shiver, reeling. “Norns, he really is here.”

She smiled. He didn’t even have to see it, he could feel it. Then her arms wrapped around him. He might still be all at sea, but here was his raft. He held her back.

 

_______________________

 

 

The courtiers were being politely escorted out of the great hall. Angrboda went with the flow, keeping her eyes and ears open. Snippets of muttered and whispered conversations traded between the lords and ladies got to her ears, amid muted exclamations and discreet sniggers. It was quite amusing.

“Ymir’s cow, but he’s handsome!”

“He must be a force of nature in the sack. Did you get a peek of those arms?...”

“...Does Thor King drop in like that on all his squeezes?...”

“…Now I see why Loki was so melancholy! Imagine scoring that, but only for one night!”

“…No Asgardian king ever came to tour Jotunheim before…”

“…I hear when Laufey went to Asgard to see Odin on business matters, they used to give each other a quick hand —tradition and appearances and all that, you know— but then spent the rest of the night playing cards…”

“…Oh, they said it was like a wildfire! That Thor King was completely besotted…”

“…Dear Norns, Loki! Who knew he had it in him!”

“I know, right? It’s always the ones you least expect…”

“…They said Thor King made a big declaration and everything when Loki was leaving, in front of the whole town.”

“Another drama queen, eh? Bless…”

“Imagine what it would mean for Jotunheim to have the, uh, _special_ _attention_ of the Overlord of the Nine Realms…!”

“…Did you see Thor King’s eyes when he saw Svad? I thought they were going to fight it out right there and then…”

“I must admit, when old Laufey croaked, a part of me was disappointed that his crazy soirées were over, but apparently the wacky gene is alive and kicking in his kids…”

 

As the carriage took her away to her townhouse, Angrboda thought to herself,

“The following weeks should be rather interesting.”

She settled into the cushioned backrest of her seat and allowed herself a little yawn.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have of course no idea about old Norse, which probably explains why I'm plundering it so carelessly to name places and things. I pinch it all from this wonderful site.
> 
> http://www.vikingsofbjornstad.com/Old_Norse_Dictionary_E2N.shtm
> 
> Have a look, it's fantastic. For all you worldbuilders out there, a great resource.


	3. Ominous dreams and prophetic words

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A rude awakening followed by a breakfast that's hard to stomach. Poor Loki is having one hell of a morning.
> 
> Also, Thor tries to understand the monogamous brain, Sif speaks for all of us, and Fandral is our favourite enabling little shit.

 

Loki is suffocating, shrink-wrapped in layer after layer of tightly woven leather. Svadilfari’s mouth is strong and demanding, and takes what it wants from his without timidity. Loki digs his nails into that luscious black hair, throws his head back when he needs air to breathe, only to find those hot, soft lips wreaking havoc on the sensitive skin of his neck. The wall is cold against Loki’s back, slightly damp from the marine breeze, and if he opens his eyes, he sees his mother’s red roses climbing above them. Svadilfari’s hands on his butt, on his thighs, digging deep through the leather. Loki rides that mighty thigh, his breeches constricting in a way that is maddening, frustrating, and entirely too arousing. Oh, if Svad slips his tongue into his ear again, he might just come in his pants. He’s been fucking needing this so badly, and for so long...

“How I wish I could feel you,” rumbles Svad in his ear, as his hands bump into yet another buckle. That outfit has about a dozen. 

Why won’t he just rip them off, thinks Loki, panting, but he can’t possibly ask such a thing. What would Svad think? _“Just rip off my clothes and fuck me against the wall of my mother’s garden, for Jormungand’s sake, I’m burning here…”_ He bears down on Svad’s thigh again. He wants to come so bad… They’re running out of time, and he can’t quite get it exactly as he needs, and…

“Your majesty, they’re expecting you.” interrupts that gruff, deep voice. The chamberlain. Only it’s not the chamberlain, it’s Heimdall. Well, it figures.

“Okay then,” sighs Loki. He’s both a bit disappointed and exhilarated. He knows what’s coming.

 

He’s in Thor’s tent now, though it’s all changed. Instead of red everywhere, there’s blue. Heimdall parts the curtains for him.

“There is special garb for first night. It has been provided.”

“But I already did first night!” protests Loki.

“This is another first.”

Oh, right, he remembers now. 

“Of course, yeah. Foreign customs, eh?” he says, feeling nervous all of a sudden. “Wait, what the Helheim is that?”

“A saddle.”

“But… I’m not a blooming horse!” 

Wait. He checks himself ‒ legs, arms, face. He looks as always, though he’s now wearing the first night linen gown. But Heimdall seems so certain… Loki must be a horse then. Norns, they like to complicate things so much in Asgard…

Unseen hands buckle him up.

“Not so tight, dammit.”

“Needs to be tight,” says Heimdall, though Loki cannot see him now. “It’s much better for the horse.”

Fine, then. Loki doesn’t question it.

He is ready now, or as ready as he could ever be. His stomach is heaving and his hands are shaking, but he _has_ to do this, he has to. For Jotunheim. 

He steps out there, and Thor is lying on the bed with his riding breeches, his chest bare. Svadilfari is beside him in the same attire. Loki gulps. _Oh, come on, are you a king or a mouse? Then stand proud. You signed up for this._

“Your majesty, you need to be broken. It’s time,” says Thor. And he’s speaking in the Aes tongue, but Loki understands him perfectly.

“Okay, okay, hang on…” he tarries. He’s actually pretty fucking turned on, but he remembers in time that he’s still supposed to be pissed off at Thor, so he better play hard to get, right?

 

Loki is lying on the bed, with his eyes closed. He knows Svad and Thor are there, somewhere close. Big, rough hands are undoing the knots of the belt of Loki’s robe. Only it’s a buckle, for the cinch of a horse saddle. Loki can hear the little bells that dangle from it.

“I don’t need that,” rumbles Thor’s voice. “I ride bareback.”

A dart of arousal goes straight into Loki’s underbelly. 

“But… but it’s traditional, isn’t it?” he weakly argues. “Won’t Svad be disappointed? You promised you would teach him how you do it in Asgard.”

Svad’s purring voice right by his ear, “It’s fine, your majesty, I ride bareback too.”

Loki wants to open his eyes, but he can’t. He knows he is being kissed, and he wants to know which of the two is doing it, but he can’t see, so he starts feeling around. He can’t feel anything. There is a sudden flash of cold on his thighs, and he remembers. Thor is down there, under his gown, and he’s going to…

“Oh, Norns, I can’t feel you… Oh please, don’t tease me… Give it to me, goddammit…”

Svad is kissing him now, Loki is riding his leg again, pressing it between his thighs, humping him furiously.

“Moon of my life…”

Where is Thor? This is such a mess, too many people in the goddamn bed, Loki can’t keep track of them all, and though he can open his eyes a sliver now, he still can’t see much at all… Oh, shit, of course he can’t see properly! He’s wearing fucking blinders!

“I don’t bloody need these!” he protests.

“It was just until we got you,” explains Svadilfari softly. “You can look now.”

 

Loki’s on his back on the bed, and Thor is fucking him slow and deep. And Loki feels a surge of euphoria, because many times he can’t feel anything, but he can now, he can…

“Oh, my love…” he whimpers, trying to press Thor between his thighs. But he’s so bulky, it’s spreading him right open! Didn’t he use to have a slim waist? 

“It’s all in the hip,” Thor is explaining to Svadilfari. “You have to push forward in time with the arch of the gallop.”

“That’s not how we do it in Jotunheim,” says Svad.

“Can’t you do this later?” groans Loki.

“Show me,” says Thor.

“H-how do we do it on Jotunheim?” asks Loki, bit anxious.

 

He’s on his hands and knees, and Svadilfari is ploughing him vigorously from behind. 

“But can’t he dismount you more easily like that?” asks Thor conversationally.

“You see, that’s the trick. If you do it like this, he doesn’t want to dismount you,” replies Svadilfari.

“But which is better for the horse?” asks Thor. 

“Your majesty?”

Loki would very much like to tell them both to go fuck themselves, but he fears it will come out as a neigh. And he wants them to shut the fuck up, and let him feel it. 

 

“This is how our ancestors did it,” purrs Thor into his ear. 

“It won’t fit,” he whimpers, “it can’t possibly…”

But yes of course it does, Loki’s a bloody horse, isn’t he? He dares open his eyes again. He is sandwiched between Thor and Svad, and they’re both trying to…

“Oh, don’t hurt me…”

“It won’t hurt,” laughs one or the other. “Don’t be silly.”

And it doesn’t. But it itches madly. He just wants them to _move_ , goddammit.

He’s so close, so fucking close.

“Will you just fuck me already?!”

“But Low-kee, we already are…”

 

He’s so, so tired now. In and out of bed all night. He hears voices, he wishes they would just shut the Helheim up, this is his only time to nap!

Well, of course. It’s Helblindi and Byleistr leaning over the royal cot.

“We don’t know yet,” grumbles Loki, shuffling closer. “How can we know?”

“Know what?” asks Hel.

“Who the father is,” says Loki.

“It’s both of them,” says Byleistr.

“How do you know?” asks Hel.

“Well, d’oh. It has eight legs.”

 _Neeeeeeeigh_!

 

_______________

 

Loki startled awake, panting, sweating, randy as fuck. In his mind, the image of a lovely baby princeling swaddled in pale blue velvet, only when you looked at him properly, it was clearly an adorable, grey and white, eight-legged colt.

What the _fuck_.

He took a minute to calm himself down, and consider what to do with his erection, which came with a heavy, pressing urge for release. He experienced certain scruples. What with the many weird, disturbing elements in his dream, if he got himself off now, how many degrees of fucked up did that make him?

…Oh, fuck it. He spat on his hand and went for it, quickly, no flourishes, telling himself his mind was totally blank. (It wasn’t. He kept getting flashes of the dream.)  

It was quick and dirty. By the fires of Muspelheim, how he needed to get laid. Fucked, specifically. His whole body was begging him to get a cock inside him at his very earliest convenience, preferably sooner than that, preferably now, right the fuck _now_. Sigh.

He was still panting in the frustrating afterglow (satisfying only from a merely physiological standpoint), when there were soft knocks on the door. Everyday, he congratulated himself that he had commanded the staff to forewarn him of their ingresses and egresses. He knew many powerful people who didn’t mind at all about the servants’ movements, and went about their business as if they were entirely by themselves. Loki could never do that. And right now, as he quickly put his hand in a more innocent spot, he was sure the chamberlain appreciated the king’s discretion too.

“Beautiful morning today, your majesty,” he said, as he opened the curtains.

It was what he always said, probably what he had said every day of his life for the last fifty years, to whichever Jotun king he happened to be serving. And here’s to fifty more, bless him. (While the chamberlain’s back was turned to him, Loki wiped himself and his hand with the sheets.)

He took the cup of tea that was put beside him, to get some heat inside his belly before having to abandon the warm cocoon of blankets and furs — it was one of his favourite perks of this kingship deal. Meanwhile, the chamberlain revived the brazier by the wash basin, and the valet prepared all the necessities for the king’s morning ablutions. A thick, heavy robe was put on Loki’s shoulders when he sat up, and he made his way to the water closet in a pair of cozy furry slippers. Nature having been seen to, Loki sat down for a shave. The valet softened his skin with a steaming towel, and then set out to see to what little stubble Loki had managed to grow overnight, which was never much. Then some soothing oil would be applied, for his skin was sensitive, and Loki hated the pink blotches that would otherwise mar his delicate complexion the moment the cold air outside touched his face. 

Laying back very still with his eyes closed to let the valet do his job, Loki considered yesterday’s events and the revelations that derived from them. 

First and fucking foremost, _Thor was here_. 

Loki’s eyes had suddenly snapped wide open. Thor was here, in the palace, right now, only a few steps away. And he’d be seeing him today. He’d be hearing him speak, he’d be saying new things that were not those Loki had worn out to a threadbare patch from running them over and over in his mind for nineteen months. (You fool, you already have some _new material_. He bloody called you a slut in front of your court, how is that for your prince charming? The fucker, how dare he?!) 

“Your majesty?” 

He took a deep breath, closed his eyes again, and tried to relax.

“Continue.” 

Loki had promised soon after his coronation that he’d be visiting the North, which had been feeling rather neglected by the crown for several years. Though Loki’s relations with the northern lords was friendly, and he made a great effort of keeping close contact with them, nothing could take the place of the king’s actual presence. So whose idea was it for Thor to tag along on the journey, By’s or Thor’s? And with what purpose? Loki should check Thor’s letters, see what could be gleaned from them —yes, he had kept them, of bloody course he had, pathetic folly-fallen lunkhead that he was. Yes, he should probably have disposed of them in some sort of ritual manner, perhaps in a nice bonfire, or maybe tossing them into the sea. But he had kept them, and he was guilty of caressing them from time to time, and even pressing them to his chest once or twice. ...Three times. Okay, fine, more like ten times. Twelve. … _Twenty-four_ fucking times, okay? Dammit, give him a break, Thor’s hand had touched them, perhaps he had actually kissed them, as he claimed in the letter itself… 

 _Thor was here_.

Loki startled again, eyes wide open, unseeing, his breath rushing.

 “Your majesty, please,” beseeched the valet.

Lie back and relax. _Focus_.

Thor was here, yes, and he had been conspiring with his sister and preparing a tour of the north for some reason. The letters. Loki should have them fetched, and study them to try and find out more about what Thor had in mind. They were kept in the royal cabinet behind the throne room. Loki had had the temptation of keeping them in his sleeping chamber, but he was bound to end up wanking to them, or sleeping with them under his pillow, and there was only so much pathetic a king can pull off before his ancestors start sending plagues to ravage the country. (He wasn’t superstitious, but ancestors or not, he had his dignity. Avoid temptation, and keep the letters away from the goddamn bedroom.)

Then again, why bother with the letters, when he could just get his sister hung by her toes, and get her to spill the Norns-damned beans. Loki had been so furious last night, he had sent her away without getting all the facts. Just… what a bloody mess! And on top of it all, now there was Svadilfari too, and, holy Fjords, he did not need this many more headaches on top of his usual ones.

On the valet’s respectful nudge, he sat up to have his hair brushed, and then finished with two narrow braids around the sides, wound with gold thread and small gemstones, like a narrow coronet. Loki was handed a mirror. Unbeknownst to Loki, whose mind was clearly several miles away, the valet had dusted his eyes and cheeks with coloured powders, and traced markings in gold paint here and there, spelling _king_ and _son of Laufey_. He had also added a couple of decorative curlicues down his neck, just because. 

“Were you ordered to give me markings today?” said Loki, cutting.

“Well, seeing as your majesty’s departure is to be attended by the whole city, I thought it was fitting,” grinned the valet nervously. “And also, well, Thor King being here and all…”

Loki threw him a glower. The valet’s weak grin broke to a grimace.

“Don’t you approve, my Lord?”

Loki examined himself again. In all fairness, he looked damn fine. But then, the crushing thought, sheer humiliation, _would Thor like it?_  

“Appropriate,” he said, still short. “But do not go ignoring the briefing like this again.”

The chamberlain had set up the day’s outfit on the bed. Traveling clothes, looser, roomier, still —needless to say— with a good drape and cut, finished with a wide leather belt around the waist, to aid with good posture while on horseback, and a stunning pair of riding boots, the leather intricately carved. With the fur-trimmed cloak on his shoulders, held with a solid gold chain and two chunky gold clasps studded with diamonds and sapphires, he cut quite a regal, majestic figure. No more shy awkward baby penguin for him.

As he crossed the alcove on his way to breakfast, he noticed old Alfrun busy in the corner, where there was the trunk in which Loki's underthings would be traveling, once they set out for the north. Something about her furtive movements caught his eye.

“What are you doing, old witch?” he asked, calling her by their private endearment.

“Nothing, nothing,” she mumbled, rushing to shut the lid.

Loki lifted it back. There, between his night clothes, a small bulge. He picked it up —a handful of wheat ears, two raven feathers, and a few twigs, bundled in a scrap of rough material, and scented with orange blossom, if Loki’s nose didn’t lie.

“The Helheim is this?” he asked. “For the moths?”

“An amulet,” she explained, not one bit ashamed, now that she was confronted with it. “Good luck for lovers.” And then she elbowed him in the side. “He’s a total stud. Well done, you.”

Norns help him, the staff were in on it too.

 

_____________________

 

Meanwhile, in the chambers allotted to the Asgardian party, Thor King paced the room, up and down, up and down. He had been doing so for some time, under the concerned gaze of his friends.

Young Balder stepped in, fresh and brisk as an ocean wave.

“Are we going or what?” he asked.

He meant to breakfast. The Odinson brothers had been extended the extraordinary privilege of sharing the king’s breakfast table that morning.

“In a minute,” grumbled Thor, pacing, pacing.

“Have you slept at all?” asked his brother.

“Little and badly,” answered Volstagg for Thor.

“Yeah, I’d say six hours tops,” ventured Hogun.

“Four,” argued Sif, “look at those eye bags.”

“Shut up, all of you,” groaned Thor, now very anxious about his appearance, on top of everything else. “I’m trying to think.”

“What’s eating you, then?” asked Fandral. “Let’s have it.”

“I need a plan of action,” said Thor. “I’ll be seeing him in a few minutes, and I haven’t decided what I am going to say! It would help if I could talk to princess Byleistr. If she’s been playing us up…”

“Now, really!” protested Balder. “She’d never!”

“Why do you suspect she played you?” asked Hogun.

“Well, she arranged all of this, and the reception party, and prepared it all so that we’d arrive on this night, and when we do arrive, Loki has been… with That Person!” Huffing now, nostrils flaring, wide with fury. “Was that her plan? Did she mean for all this to happen?”

“Judging from the obvious state of panic she was in, I’d say no,” said Sif. 

“Yeah,” concurred Fandral. “And she seemed about as shocked as everyone else about the overall state of the king.”

“Yes!” exclaimed Balder, relieved to find some backup. “She couldn’t possibly have known what was going on! She would have written to me about it!”

“It all seemed a bit out of control, to be quite frank,” said Sif, rubbing a chip in her nail that was annoying her.

“It did,” said Thor, with a sigh. “It might have been rash and foolish of me to rely so much on one so young. We depended on her for everything. Had I not been so desperate, I would have paid more mind to the dangers of this course of action.”

“She did her best…” argued Balder, with his accustomed loyalty.

“Well, it’s done now,” sentenced Sif. 

“Indeed. I must plan my next move,” said Thor.

“Uuuh, what do you mean?” said Sif, frowning. “You’re going to talk to Loki, aren’t you?”

“Yes, of course, but what do I say?”

“First of all, how about an apology,” said Sif.

“Yeah, what even got into you last night, my dear old friend?” asked Fandral. “It was so unlike you…”

“I don’t know!” roared Thor. “I could not think! All I could see was his hair in all directions, and his mouth all pink and swollen, and all I could think of was… him, in That Person’s arms, only a minute before we arrived, kissing and groping and…” Blind fury was mounting inside again. “I’m so… Why?! I’ve had this feeling inside for hours, like I want to grab That Person by the throat and…”

“Svadilfari, you mean?” said Volstagg.

“Do not say his name in my presence!” roared Thor.

“Yeah, that’ll be him then,” contributed Hogun.

“…And the thing is… I don’t get it?” continued Thor, pacing again. “The man seems… a fine catch.” (Ah, it burned him to even say it) “In a different situation, I might want to make a move myself. When someone I care about gets themselves such a spectacular piece of ass, don’t I usually partake in their joy? Why is it, then, that all I want to do right now is… pickle That Person? Chop him in small cubes, soak him in goddamn vinegar and spices, and store him in a goddamn cool, dark place? I don’t get it!”

“You’re jealous,” said Fandral, matter-of-factly.

“Pardon?”

“When you want to pickle the guy who was snogging your beloved, most of the time the reason is jealousy.”

“Is it?” Poor Thor seemed so entirely lost. “Why have I never felt like this before?”

His friends shared a look. Fandral said, “Aww.”

Thor roared and paced some more, a caged panther. When he stopped, his breathing still huffy, he seemed utterly forlorn.

“Oh, my friends, do you think I have lost him for good?”

“Sweet Loki? Seeing how he was looking at you, I’ll go with no,” said Volstagg.

“But Jotuns are monogamous! They mate for life!”

“They’re not fucking swans, Thor,” said Sif.

“Or penguins,” chipped in Fandral.

“No, you do not get it!” insisted Thor. “This is about their entire cultural makeup! It informs their thoughts and feelings! Like, monogamy affects how their psyche operates! I’ve been reading about it! They’re loyal to the one they pick, and…”

“Are you entirely sure about that?” asked Fandral, with a frown that respectfully but forcefully begged to disagree.

“How many fucking books about Jotunheim have you read?” snapped Thor.

“Excuse me, but, what exactly have you been reading?” asked Sif.

Thor kept the books by his bed, actually, thank you very much. He picked the one he had in mind during this conversation and threw it at her. She leafed through it.

“This is a book of poems, Thor,” she noted.

“ _Love_ poems,” specified Thor. “If you want to learn about the spirit of individuals raised in a foreign society with a different mental background, you are not going to find it in dry treaties and reports. This is all about feelings. Jotuns wrote this thing, and Jotuns read this thing, and they can empathise with it, so by reading it, I can learn how their feelings and their minds work.”

Again, his friends shared a look between them.

“Thor, my dear friend, far be it from me to speak out of turn but, don't you think perhaps that there is a small chance you may be overthinking this?” said Volstagg, as gently as he could, lest he stirred his volatile-tempered friend to anger.

“Why don’t you just sit down with him and tell him what’s kept you away all this time?” suggested Hogun.

“Oh my Norns, I can’t just… spring it all on him like that! What if he has indeed transferred his affections to That Person? I’d make a fool out of myself!”

“Why don’t you ask him?” said Sif.

“Oh, please, haven’t you met him? He’ll say yes, just to rile me up and put me in my place! I can’t just ask him outright! And I can’t go there and candidly tell him all, and offer him my heart and soul, when I am not sure that he will take them! What if he throws it back in my face?”

“But Thor, if you tell him all that you’ve done for him, won’t that sort of prove how very much you care, and automatically win him back?” insisted Sif.

“Oh, please! Haven't you been listening what I said about the monogamous mind? I may care as much as I want, but if he has indeed transferred his affections to That Person, I shall have it all returned to me with his compliments, and leave Jotunheim empty-handed! And besides, how would that look, pray? After I’ve been affronted like that, I can’t go there meekly and humbly! Is this the man who charmed him and seduced him? Is that what will get him back? No! I need to regain my place in his heart with feats of astonishing daring!”

“If I may,” said Fandral softly, “perhaps a tiny bit of humility would actually earn you a few points, after, well. The things that were said…”

Thor took a deep breath, to calm himself down.

“I _will_ apologise. I was out of line. But I won’t be offering all that I’ve come to offer until I have him once again beneath me in bed, sweating and undone from the transports of our passion, and I am entirely sure that his heart belongs entirely and irredeemably to me.”

“Thor, I’m willing to bet that his heart already belongs to you. And I would not lose,” said Volstagg.

“And yet, there he was, only a moment before, snogging That Person!” countered Thor, who could not be swayed. “You see, my mother and father, once they came together, never once looked again at anyone else. That’s how the monogamous mentality works. If Loki has strayed, it’s because I didn’t hold him entirely. I must win his heart fully, and banish That Person from his mind and heart, that we may feel the same way for each other and be perfectly balanced thus, or else this will never work, and all I have done will be in vain!”

“One can be entirely devoted in their hearts to one person, and still need their… loins tended to,” noted Volstagg.

“No, shush, you don’t get it. After all the extensive research I’ve been doing, I’ve come to learn that love, for the Jotuns, inextricably joins body and spirit. You get a huge array of symptoms that are quite distinctive; say, visual hallucinations, such as seeing the beloved as constantly illuminated by an invisible light beam, or their presence altering the colour of the room, or the lover’s inability to see anyone or anything else the moment their beloved comes into sight. Then there’s the sleepless nights, the cold sweats, the loss of appetite, the urgent need to write verse, or the thought of the beloved occupying the mind at all times, and giving every other thought, word spoken or heard, and occurrences that may happen, a whole new meaning. And so many more. They’re all in here!” Thor brandished the poetry book in the air, like the tablets of the Law. “And though I have yet to find studies on the subject, I reckon this affectation may not just have a cultural base, but a biological one as well, and that it may be sexually transmitted, because ever since that night with Loki, I have suffered all these symptoms myself.”

“Awww…” cooed all his friends, to Thor’s confusion.

“Just tell him why you’ve come, Thor,” said Sid tiredly. “Tell him all you’ve done. Put it all out there, don’t hold anything back. Talk to each other, please. I mean it. Save yourselves, and the rest of us, a lot of angst.”

“Sif,” said Thor, sounding equally as tired, “I know you mean well, but you’re a practical woman; your mind operates along direct, straightforward lines, and though the world would be spared many woes would everyone be like you, the fact is, some people’s thoughts progress along more complicated, twisted paths. You may not be able to fathom the intricacies of a spirit as nuanced and delicate as Loki’s.”

“That’s a distinct possibility,” grumbled she.

“I support you, Thor,” said Fandral earnestly. “Do _not_ be straightforward with him. Seduce him first, and make your other move last. Loki needs a bold, passionate man who’ll rob him of his senses and undo all his reserves, before he is ready and willing to talk logistics and practicalities. You’re doing what needs to be done.”

“What?!” snapped Sif.

“Thor, breakfast…” urged Balder.

Thor took a deep breath, did a couple of neck stretches, then a few exercises to relax the jaw. Touched his hair, his beard, checked his breath.

“How do I look.”

“Like the King of Asgard and the Overlord of the Nine Realms,” said Fandral solemnly.

“Alright then, here I go,” said Thor. “For Asgard.”

“For Asgard,” echoed his friends.

 

Once the door was closed, Sif turned to Fandral with a dark squint.

“You do realise that literally all he has to do is tell Loki what he’s been up to, right?”

“Oh, yeah, totally,” said Fandral. “But it’s a lot more fun like this, don’t you think?”

 

___________________________

 

 

Loki opened the door to the breakfast room, and was frozen into place.

“Good morning, your majesty,” said Thor.

Loki clenched his jaw, tried to school his face to an inexpressive mask that gave nothing away, but when his eyes darted to his sister, they were squinting with hostility. 

“Thor King,” he said, chewing the words. “Prince Balder. What a surprise to see you at the royal family’s private breakfast table.”

“Well, Thor King and you have been so very _close_ , it’s practically as if you were family, right?” said Byleistr, sounding like her confident, pretty damn brutal self again.

“If I wanted to hear your voice, child, I would have spoken to you,” hissed Loki to his sister. “You’re _not_ forgiven, you have _not_ gotten away with it, and you’ll be hearing from me in due course.”

Byleistr may have been unsettled, but damned if she was going to show it. She turned to Balder instead, and began to talk about fruit preserves and bee-keeping, at which both happened to be adept.

Loki, for his own part, gulped and took his seat. Right beside Thor, of course — everyone else had chosen their spots carefully to that effect. On the one hand, good, because that prevented Loki from having to look at Thor's face -and damn, what the cold, watery morning light did to Thor’s complexion and overall appearance! It put threads of silver in his hair, and drew out the grey in his eyes, like a stormy sea, and overall, he looked fucking gorgeous this morning. On the other hand… fuck, he was so, so close. He was bound to notice that Loki’s hands were trembling, and that the pulse was running strong and fast in his veins.

“So you do this every morning, then? Just the three of you?” asked Balder.

And a little conversation ensued about Helblindi’s breakfasts, and those they used to share with their parents, which got Balder going on and on about how Thor often took his morning meal already surrounded by councillors and petitioners, except now he had created these committees, and…

“Can you please hand me the bread?” interrupted Thor, ever so softly. He was addressing Loki.

Loki passed the basket without looking.

“Loki eats like a bird, these days,” commented Hel. “It’s the first thing that goes away when he’s troubled about something, his appetite.”

“Not so with Thor,” said Balder. “His way of dealing with difficulty is to bury it under a pile of food, isn’t it, brother?”

“Do you feel troubled?” enquired Thor gently, addressing Loki.

“The dried fruit, please,” cut Loki instead. And to steer the conversation away from himself once and for all, he said, “Byleistr, why don’t you tell our guests about the particularities of the places they shall be visiting?” 

Byleistr began to do just that, aided by Balder’s attentive questions and Helblindi’s asides, and Thor was forced to pretend to listen for a while, though Loki had the distinct impression that in truth, he wasn’t. He was still trying not to look, but he could see those big, weathered hands, their long fingers, and it was giving him fucking palpitations, bringing back glimpses of memories from their night together. He prayed that his inner self would stop screaming hysterically at him: “ _He’s here! He’s fucking here!_ ” and “ _Those hands have held you down! That mouth has been all over you! These fingers have been inside you! He’s fucking naked under all those clothes! He’s covered in gorgeous ink tracings! He’s made of muscle and gold! You know how his cock looks, how it feels, how it fucking tastes!_ ” —Stop this, stop it! Loki shut his eyes tight for a moment, for his mind was now offering visions of hands on a belt, on the buckle of a horse saddle… Welp.

“Are you not well?” said that gruff, warm, deep voice beside him. (How could it feel as intimate and familiar as if Loki had woken up beside it his whole life?)

“This journey,” grumbled Loki. “I’m not looking forward to it.”

“Oh?”

“I have enough work as it is, and no wish to see it piling up while I'm gone."

“I see.”

“You seem tired yourself. Do our beds not satisfy you?” he said, icily.

“The bed was fine, but I have much on my mind too,” admitted Thor.

“Indeed. Asgardian business?”

“Well, I’m the king. Whatever troubles me, troubles the realm.”

“I thought my memory of your arrogance must be much exaggerated by distance and time, for it surely could not be so ridiculously swollen, but now I see time and distance had actually preserved it in a much diminished proportion.”

Thor laughed. He laughed, and the clouds parted with that sound, and in their branches fruits ripened and filled with sweet juices, and fell into the grateful mouths of the children and the poor. And Thor must have seen the look of pure adoration in Loki’s face. Damn.

“Moon of my life,” he whispered, though in such close quarters, the rest were bound to hear, “how I have missed you. How I have yearned for you, until I felt about to wither away to a shadow on the wall.”

Loki’s eyes flickered for but a heartbeat. 

“Indeed,” he said.

“And now, oh, to see you again,” whispered Thor, “to have you near, after months and months of having to be content with but my memories.”

Loki could not look at him, at anyone. Don’t do this to me, please… (Oh, don’t stop.)

“I have at turns blessed and cursed the pendant I had made, with the gemstones that reminded me of the green of your eyes,” Thor continued his assault to Loki’s heart. “For it was nothing but an insignificant trinket, a dim, cold token, so far removed from the true shade I see before me now, for even the most precious gem wouldn’t match the fire that burns within you and that your eyes reveal. And yet, it was all I had that felt truly ours, yours and mine alone, and I would hold it close to my chest to help me bear your absence.” His voice became lower still, an intimate murmur, warm and adoring. “To have you here now, to be sitting right by your side, so close that I can smell you… Oh my love, I am breathless.”

“Thanked be the Norns,” grunted Loki shortly, that his grumble would conceal his agitation. “I cannot imagine how much more you would ramble on, had you breath at all.”

Thor chuckled again, and what a sound it was after all that time of deprivation, in which Loki had been no more able to find respite from the cravings of his heart and his body than a hungry beggar, who living in the street never quite finds his thoughts rid of the servitude of hunger and cold. He yearned for Thor's mighty embrace and his warmth as the good land in its wintry sleep remembers the spring with its giving sun.

“My words were harsh and offensive yesterday,” said Thor, changing his tone to one of solemn contrition. “I apologise without reserve. All I can say for myself is that I had dreamed of the moment of our reunion for such a long time, and this was not how I had envisaged it. I was wounded, and I said unforgivable things. I lay myself at your feet, though I am undeserving, and please, take pity on me. Forgive me.”

Loki tried to compose himself. He felt so tired all of a sudden. A deep sigh.

“For what you said yesterday, I forgive you. It’s of no consequence.”

“…Meaning?”

“Meaning your words at the reception are nothing next to that for which you should really be apologising for.”

“Which is?”

“That you are here. After I told you a hundred times not to come.”

They were not whispering now, and conversation around the table could not continue. They had forgotten they were not alone.

“I made an oath,” declared Thor.

“And I relieved you from it.”

“Only the Norns themselves can do that.”

“I asked you to stay away!” cried Loki.

Thor could not refrain a look of hope at the spectacle of Loki’s composure finally shattering.

“And you knew fully well that it was not possible," said Thor.

Loki looked around at the several pairs of curious eyes around him. He surged up from his chair in a fury, and rushed out of the room. Thor immediately followed him.

He trapped him in the next chamber.

"Moon of my life..."

"Why wasn't it possible to keep your bloody distance, as I had beseeched you!" barked Loki. "Isn't anything and everything possible to Thor son of Odin, you who bow to no-one but the skies? Because you cannot take a no for an answer?”

“Because you carry my heart and soul with you," said Thor softly. "How could I ever live on, so long parted from that which animates my flesh?”

“How you like your poetry,” spat Loki. “Words words words. You have so many. And what else is there?”

“I made an oath, and I am here. I made good on my word. And yet, you have no faith in me.”

“Faith? In what?”

“What I promised.”

“You… promised the impossible! That we shall be together, and never be parted again! That you would turn the world on its head to make it happen! You must think me dimwitted, swearing to things that cannot be done, and then expecting me to trust you blindly and fall in your arms again, just because you swore!”

“I do not think you dimwitted,” retorted Thor, “but you do think me a liar. A boldface liar, without honour, pride, or decency, seeking to take advantage of you. Is that what you really think of me?”

Loki did and he didn’t. He wanted to, and he couldn’t. Mostly, he was about to cry. He stiffened his gesture.

“Is that your answer?” prodded Thor.

“What else am I to think!” protested Loki. “Either a liar, or a deluded madman! Are you to make the world smaller, and time double, that we can both be all the things you want, and still carry out our sacred duty to our kingdoms?”

“I told you I had ideas. You wouldn’t hear of them.”

“I wanted you to stop pestering me,” said Loki, with but a thread of voice. “It was unbearable. Living on hope.”

Encouraged by the emotion in the Jotun’s voice, Thor dared hold Loki’s hand between both of his.

“I swore,” he whispered, “Under the skies, under the eyes of the sun. I swore that you would be mine again, and that we’d be together again. And I have laboured tirelessly to bring this to pass. I _have_.”

“Oh, please,” protested Loki.

“And while I shook the bones of the earth, and fire and blood were spilled in the name of our love, you were trying to forget me.”

Loki looked away. 

“Have you forgotten me?” said Thor softly. “Have I lost you? Have you transferred your affections to… this other one?”

Loki gritted his teeth, that emotion would not overcome him again.

“Well, he lives here,” he grunted.

“What does that mean?”

“It means that he is real, and you’re… a dream.”

“But does he put milk and honey in your porridge too?”

Loki snatched his hand back.

“How dare you interrogate me like this? You! You of the fifty wives and the countless lovers!”

“Did I not say to you that night that I feared that, after yours, no other body would ever warm me? That no company but yours would soothe my loneliness? That I would not be sated by any kisses but yours? Well, it is so.”

“I suppose your visits to Lord Rogers and Queen Freya were just to make absolutely sure of that,” grumbled Loki.

“You’ve been observing closely,” said Thor.

Loki decided not to dignify that with an answer. 

“I had my reasons to visit,” said Thor, enigmatic.

“I’m sure you did,” scoffed Loki.

“But would you believe me if I told you that they were not what you assume?”

“I don’t assume anything. I don’t bloody think about you and them. Ever. At all.”

Thor smiled, looking endeared.

“Your pride is formidable. You will not grant me even an inch.”

“I cannot give you an inch! I cannot even give you half! I can’t give you… anything! Should I grant you an inch, you’d take the whole thing! You… overwhelm me!”

“My love,” gasped Thor, vibrantly. “I can still reach you, can’t I? I have not lost you entirely. …And your silence is your answer.”

“I do not want you to reach me,” confessed Loki. “I do not want to… to want you.”

“My love, don’t deny us this joy. Give yourself to me. Don’t refuse me anymore, do not fight this feeling. Remember the perfect happiness we knew together. I am here now, moon of my life, and we can have it all.”

 _But until when?,_ said a broken voice within Loki.

“You are here now, yes," he said instead. "You are here, disobeying my command. You are here, after plotting and conspiring behind my back, making traitors out of members of my own household, of my very own kin, that your will may find its way. You are here, without respect for my crown or my wishes!”

“Yes, I am guilty of that too. In my defence, I have this: that your wishes first were that we would be together always, and you spoke those from your heart, while your wish that I stayed away came from your reluctance to trust me and my capabilities, and you disbelieving how seriously I take my oaths. It was stubbornness and lack of faith in me that wished me away, not your heart. And so, I did what I had to do, to honour my oath, my deepest, most treasured desire, and your original, true wishes — that we are together. And I would do it again.”

“Bah, you’re impossible!” Loki began to stomp away, seeing as this conversation was going nowhere fast (or perhaps into Thor’s arms, which was just as bad).

“I swore that you would be mine again, and you will be,” declared Thor, his perfectly certain rumble putting a hot, deep shiver in Loki’s bones. 

“Presumptuous ass,” grunted Loki, stopped in his tracks by Thor’s words and his insufferable self-assurance, but refusing to turn.

“You will be mine,” insisted Thor. “We will be together again. I will see your naked body, and you will see mine, and we shall tumble in the sheets fused as one, and I’ll hear again the sounds of your pleasure. We shall give each other exquisite relief for so many nights spent apart, in so many ways, old and new, for days on end. Forget about milk and honey, my love. We shall feast on nectar and ambrosia, you and I.”

Loki looked over his shoulder. He meant to confront Thor, to throw it all back in his face, to unleash on him wrath and indignation, but he was tongue-tied.

“You believe me,” stated Thor, approaching, each step making Loki’s pulse go that bit faster. “You do believe me. This promise you know you can trust. You know I can deliver.” His tiny smirk was unbearable, Norns! Thor reached to touch his face. And his voice, ever so warm, that hint of humour... “Why, your majesty, are you blushing?”

Blushing? Loki’s cheeks were on fire. He shook him off and strode away, with his heart in his throat, and a pesky stiffy.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHEN I THOUGHT ABOUT THE DREAM THING I WAS SO EXCITED I WANTED TO TELL YOU ALL!! Sometimes I really like my ideas. Wherever they're fucking coming from, it's a good place, and I like having it.
> 
> And about Thor's logic being flimsy on the "don't be straightforward with Loki" area: do you want the fic to last a couple more chaps or not? Then just go with it, dammit.


	4. On the road

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The royal party takes to the road, and it would seem that Svad and Thor will be providing the entertainment. It's going to be a bumpy ride.

 

Loki burst into his private cabinet, and amid huffs and puffs of agitation, he sent for Sigyn. She was to join him in his address to the chancellery —the most trusted, closest secretaries, who would keep the engine going under Sigyn’s supervision while he was away— and convey to them his last instructions before he departed.

His exchange with Thor had left his nerves on edge, and his heart pumping in a very distracting fashion. On the one hand, he couldn’t bloody stand his self-assurance, his presumptuousness, his overbearing ways. On the other hand, _he could not bloody_ stand _his self-assurance, his presumptuousness, his overbearing ways_. He could not stand them, as in, he was as helpless and doomed under their push as an open city. They swept him off his feet and onto his back and left him there, feeling his legs spontaneously spreading open for him. Didn’t Thor know? If only he would fucking talk a little less, rip off Loki’s clothes, and take him against a wall already, they could all save themselves so much bloody _chatter_. 

Anyway. Tour of the north. Cabinet meeting. Sigyn. May those bloody visions of frantic, animal couplings in unseemly places, thick with the scent of sweat and musk, fucking leave him be already. He was _busy_ , Nornsdammit.

There she was, his saving grace, his darling, his queen-to-be. (Perhaps Loki should be concerned that the vision of his betrothed had the same effect on him as a bucket of ice water, but he’d worry about that some other time, and be grateful in the present.)

“Where were you?” he grumbled.

“Having breakfast,” she said, fully confident that she could not possibly be the cause for his bad mood, and thus, immune to it. “I heard you didn’t finish yours.”

“Well, my sister must think that an empty belly is best for traveling, and set out to spoil my appetite. She invited the Odinsons.”

“Did she now.”

“Yes she did. To our bloody _private_ breakfasts. I was so furious, I even forgot to tell her how very literally I meant the grounding thing! She’s not bloody coming on this tour anymore!”

“But dear!” she beseeched. “Are you sure about that?”

“Damn sure. She’s brought this on herself. The little missy needs some alone time to have a good think about her actions.”

Sigyn sighed. Loki braced himself. Here it comes.

“I see, and I understand, my dear, but she’s spent the last six months planning this journey, working long hours to organise it and bring it to pass.”

“Well, it would hardly be a punishment if she did not care about what she’ll be missing.”

“Yes, but she’s also the one who knows the details inside out, from the itinerary to the sights, from the gifts for the hosts, to the necessary protocol…”

“We have a small army of outstandingly clever, well-informed chamberlains and pages, many of whom have assisted Byleistr personally, and taught her everything she knows, who not only will know already as much as her, but can learn whatever might be missing in the time it takes for me to walk from here to my horse. Byleistr’s presence is not necessary. We’ll manage without it.”

“Yes, but… My dear, if you do leave her behind, then make sure Balder stays in the city too.”

“What do you mean by that,” said Loki, suspicious.

“Make a guess.”

Ah, bollocks. 

“So, that’s what this is about, then,” he grumbled.

“I’m afraid so.”

“I have no say in what Balder does or where he stays,” he said, curtly. “You will have to speak to Thor about that.”

“Just take Byleistr along,” urged Sigyn.

“Let me get this straight. What you’re suggesting is that I should not only _not_ punish her in any way, but reward her foolishness with a holiday with her beau. Well, if that doesn’t teach her, I don’t know what will! Next year she’ll be exchanging letters with Ulfheim, and we’ll tour the Western Isles, how about that!”

“I just don’t want to see her heart broken,” said Sigyn. “And no matter how furious you feel now, neither do you, I know.”

Loki could roar. How could he run the bloody kingdom when he couldn’t even rule his bloody household! Sigyn sensed he was weakening, and aimed for the gaps in the armour.

“I would not insist if I didn’t think it was important, you know I would not. I defer to your will on many matters, whenever you show me the superiority of your arguments. But this time I will not submit. I’m beseeching you, my darling. Please. For me.”

“You’re taking advantage of my better nature and my weakness for you,” said Loki, with a deep, defeated sigh. “You know I cannot deny you.”

“Yes, my darling. And believe me, I think your anger is justified, and on many other occasions, I would have agreed with your corrective measures. But this means so much to her, and since no harm has been done…”

“Yet.”

“I will speak to her. I will make sure she understands the seriousness of her actions. I will obtain from her a sincere oath never to do something like this again. And I will impress on her the need to make reparations, and to mend her ways in the future. And I will most assuredly make a point that she owes everything she values to your generosity, your patience, and the kindness of your heart, and that these will only stretch so far.”

“My softness, you mean,” he grumbled. And he conceded, because he had too many open fronts already, and a clever ruler learns to marshal their forces. “Very well, then. But when you speak to her, warn her that, should she take unilateral actions with international parties again, should she ever attempt to move a fricking finger outside the edges of her bloody _room_ again without consulting me first, I shall banish her to the countryside, restrict and police her post and her visits, and tell the world her mind is not sound, and that nothing she says is to be heeded, for the safety of the kingdom. And I’m not just being flippant. Is that understood?”

“Yes, my dear.”

“Good. Fine. Thanks.” Sigh.

She rubbed his arm.

“Are you sure you cannot come?” he asked, sounding a bit whiny.

“We cannot both be away for so long,” she said sweetly in turn. “I will meet you in Svellhaer in a few weeks time, as we agreed.”

Loki sighed again. He risked hyperventilating.

“What is it, my darling.”

“You know what,” he muttered miserably.

She hugged him, chuckling softly.

“Just hold on to Angie’s arm when it gets too much, and let her do the talking,” she said, stroking his hair.

“Angie is an enabler,” he grumbled. “She’ll help me unbuckle my garments herself, douse me in liquor, and serve me to Svad and Thor on a platter.”

Sigyn laughed.

“If you ask her nicely,” she said, with an elbow to his side. “Let’s go to the chancellery. They await you.”

 

 

______________

 

 

 

“All heed! The King will speak!”

It was a small room. It was really not necessary to cry so loud, thought Loki, side-eyeing the chamberlain.

About two dozen people stood up to greet Loki, the men and women who served in the chancellery, loyal bureaucrats who knew the workings of Jotunheim inside and out, and had served loyally under Loki’s father, some even under his grandfather. They were not the most forward-looking and open-minded people, but they were familiar with the nooks and crannies of the state, and they were needed. They also seemed to respect both Sigyn and him. At least, Loki did not perceive any suspiciously dogged resistance whenever he tried to implement changes, nothing but the expected clunkiness of a mechanism that is slow to stop for repairs, and refuses to run smoothly for some time once it’s restarted, the new piece sticking and standing out too bright among the older, duller components, well oiled with centuries of accumulated grease. Loki thought he had his father’s frankly disturbing shenanigans to thank for the support of the oldest and most entrenched in tradition among them. Laufey had ruined for everyone the notion of “the old ways”. And they liked the little princeling, didn’t they? Loki had been assisting at cabinet meetings, fascinated, since he could barely talk. 

“I’m leaving, but my authority remains in Lady Sigyn’s capable hands,” he said. “Obey her as you would obey me. Actually, obey her a bit more diligently, and a little more promptly,” he teased. There were some scattered polite chuckles. Tough crowd. “In other words, for a little while, pester her with your incessant questions and requests, and forget about me.” More chuckles. “Ladies and gentlemen, until I return.”

“Have a good journey, your majesty,” said old Eggthér, who had taken his apprenticeship as a penman under Loki’s grandfather.

“Thank you. Good day to you all.” He nodded and left, Sigyn by his side.

 

“My lord, all is set,” said a chamberlain, with a bow. A page with Loki’s traveling cloak was behind him. “They await you in the yard.”

“Very well, then,” huffed Loki.

They slung the cloak over his shoulders —thick oiled leather, a warm, furry lining, a deep hood— and affixed it with a bejewelled brooch. Many heads turned to watch him walk down the hall as he strode towards the yard. The cloak billowed behind him, his steps firm and determined, full of majesty.

The yard was busy with lords, ladies, pages, stablehands, horses, carriages, carts, and a long entourage of servants of all descriptions and occupations. Loki’s eyes set first on the Asgardian party (Thor, his brother, and his four friends; he had brought no-one else), with their exotic accoutrements, and their Jotun-made cloaks to fight off the cold. Byleistr and Helblindi were next to them, as were Angrboda and Svadilfari. Two dozen Jotun courtiers with their servants would complete the royal train. 

With the entire caravan now before his eyes, Loki could see firsthand where all the money Byleistr had asked for had gone. She had had new carriages made, and repaired and restored to magnificence those the royal house and the court already possessed, and now they glistened like well-polished gems. The result should be quite spectacular, once they set out on the road. She had also appointed musicians, acrobats, singers, storytellers, jugglers, beast tamers, and many other entertainers too, that there would be not one dull moment on the road, and that those in the north would benefit from the sophisticated, choicest entertainment of the royal court, some visiting from the continent. The royal menagerie trailed behind, hunting dogs and birds of prey, under Helblindi’s charge. Bulking out the entourage even more, many servants would be coming along to see to their masters and mistresses’ comfort, and they had all been given new liveries and new clothes on the crown’s purse, that not a scullery maid and no stable hand marred the bright richness of the overall effect with drab, old clothing. As for the victuals, barrels of wine, sacks of flour, basket upon basket of assorted sweets, and many other stores would travel with them, as well as an entire kitchen mounted on a carriage, including an oven and a grill, to turn out bread and hot pots and cooked meat or fish on the way. No expense had been spared to make the royal caravan more splendid than any other in living memory, and fine enough to match any in the records. (Oh, Norns, the diplomatic damage control Loki would be having to deploy to explain to the northern lords he wasn’t trying to send a message of unspeakable arrogance.)

Ran and Sleipnir, his Asgardian horses, stood with high-headed self-possession, their chests and heads splendidly bejewelled today in gemstones of green and blue hues, golden fringes on reins and harnesses, their leathers carved with intricate designs with runes of blessing, and richly dyed with pigments brought from across the seas. Right beside him, still on foot by his own Asgardian horse (a gigantic grey-spotted white beast, with hooves as big as a baby’s head), was King Thor in his riding armour, black leather, silver and bronze, a deep red cloak lined and collared in furs, setting the gold of his hair ablaze in that bright morning.

Loki walked towards his horses, and when he offered his hand and a treat, he was rewarded with gentle, utterly dignified nudges. Neither them nor he were demonstrative, but any observant eye would have appreciated the mutual respect and affection between the animals and the king.

“Good morning, your majesty,” said Thor, with a lightness that was as attractive as it was irritating, to Loki anyway.

“Thor King,” he replied. And he might have been icy, but nobody could have accused him of being unable to keep his bearings, especially considering what their last interaction had consisted of. 

He bade the others good morning too, starting of course with his Asgardian guests, and following with the Jotun courtiers, in order of importance. The pertinent nods and “your majesty’s” were uttered in response.

“A fine day for traveling,” said Thor. “The auspices are good for our departure.”

“We can hope,” said he. 

“Allow me,” said Thor, offering his hands as a stirrup to help him mount. 

Loki used them as he gripped the saddle’s horn, his other hand firmly on Thor’s shoulder. Surely there was no shame in that —Ran’s back was level with the top of Loki’s _head_. As the rest of the party mounted as well, the pages arranged Loki’s cloak so that it draped handsomely over the beast’s rump. Thor too made such an effortlessly regal, magnificent sight, the suggestion of raw power from his well-developed muscles and demeanor tempered by his beautiful posture and intelligent expression. You could have saved your gold paint and all those acrobats, dear sister, thought Loki, for nobody will pay them any attention with Thor at the head of our caravan.

The fanfares blared. Loki waved and spurred his horse.

“The king rides north!” cried the chamberlain.

“The king rides north!” echoed a dozen voices in the yard as they saluted their monarch’s departure. Flanked by chamberlains and those old courtiers who had declined to go on the tour, Sigyn waved. Loki nodded his head deeply, with longing. And then he crossed the gates of the king’s keep and began his descent towards the city. The standard bearers marched front, followed by the guards, and finally the trumpeters, announcing the extraordinary caravan.

Loki kept his eyes front, his bearing proud, and beside him, Thor did just the same. The Asgardian king waved amiably to the gawkers and the well-wishers lining the streets to see them off, and though his magnificence be forbidding, his demeanour was approachable.

“What are they singing?” asked Thor after a while. “I can’t quite make out the words.”

Loki had been fearing that question since the first notes had rung, and for a long moment, he considered lying.

“A wedding march,” he admitted at last, between gritted teeth.

Thor laughed out loud, shook his head, and made no comment. Loki could not decide if it was a mercy, or whether he’d been hoping for an excuse to vent some tension in the shape of a pointed jab or two.

They carried on down the wider streets towards the outer gates of the city. When they entered the king’s road, wider and paved, the crowd doubled. The way had been embellished with colourful banners, and somebody had furnished the people with flower petals to shower them with, and bells and racks for noise. Fireworks went off. Thor waved and blew kisses. Some commoners dared approach the kings, and they allowed it. Thor touched babies’ heads and shook hands. Some people handed them flowers. Thor wove some into his hair.

“They love you, Loki,” said Thor, his smile so broad. The people's worship suited him fine, and did not at all throw him. 

“I expect they are relieved to have me, after my father’s last years,” grumbled Loki, in a mood, and not one to take neither the commoners' adoration nor anybody's compliments easily.

“I expect they love their fair, clever, caring, beautiful king,” argued Thor.

“And I expect they like a good show, like all people everywhere,” scoffed Loki.

Thor laughed, his mood as bright as the morning.

“The greatest show on Yggdrasil, indeed,” he granted, with an appraising look that made Loki’s cheeks flush.

The trumpets blared again as the kings crossed the city gates. Once out in the fields, the peasants would stop their work to watch them pass. Thor pointed into the distance.

“Oh! Is that the Heilagrfjall yonder? In the mists?”

“It is indeed,” said Loki. 

“I suppose it is the tallest peak?”

“Actually, no. It’s the one to the right. The one you mean is the Vaettafjall, the Peak of Hope. It seems taller from where we are because it is much closer. Heilagrfjall has a forked top which is at the moment covered in clouds.”

Thor nodded in appreciation. 

“How far to the bridge of Ulfrbrú?”

“Many days yet. And we just say Ulfrbrú — _brú_ means bridge.”

“Oh, of course,” said Thor amicably, with sparkles of excitement in his eyes.

“You’ve done your homework.”

“It’s not every day one sees the great realm of Jotunheim for the first time. It pays to be prepared. There are many, many sights I am most eager to see, for I have imagined them at length when I poured over my maps and devoured the accounts of the travelers.”

“Is that so. What great sights do you most yearn to see?”

“Svellhaer of course, and the ice houses, but also Hvitrholt, the White Woods, and the great frozen wall of Íssbálkr that crumbles into the sea, the ice caves that are larger than any manmade vault ever built, the wells that spout boiling water high up in the air...  I long to hunt the great bilgesnipe and don its scaly pelt, and behold the great white bear with mine own eyes, and ride the narwhal… Oh, there is so much about your land that calls to me, your majesty.”

There was a childish quality to Thor right then that was most endearing. Loki averted his eyes, that he would not be caught mooning.

“So, you have been planning this for a long time, then,” he said.

“From the day you departed. It helped pass the time until I could see you again. That very evening, I had brought to me all there was in our archives and our scrolls about your land, and once I had consumed it all, I sent for more, and called for explorers, tradesmen, and anyone who could give me truthful accounts to further enrich the picture. I must admit my fascination was all-consuming.”

“Much like a cunning strategist seeks to understand exhaustively the terrain they intend to conquer,” noted Loki drily.

Thor laughed.

“Much like a lover seeks to fill the hours of separation with some purpose that brings him closer, if only in mind and spirit, to the object of his passion,” he amended. 

“Can passion make one forget entirely that one is not just a man with a heart, but a king?”

“Not entirely, but close,” said Thor. “‘Tis a very great passion indeed.”

Loki felt his anger bubble. What he was really dying to ask was why the Helheim had Thor waited for nineteen bloody months, if he had been so eager. What could have kept him all that time! Was he really as desperate as he said? Or was he just putting on the act of the lovesick fool, because it suited him to get Loki in to bed again? Did he think Loki so... so gullible?

...But he was not going to ask that, was he? Lest it seemed that Loki himself had been counting the days. Which he had been, Nornsdammit, while Thor just fucked around for almost two years, and visited his Lady Freya and his Lord Rogers and doubtless many others in between! Oh, that Loki had an ounce less concern for the dignity of his seat! Thor better brace himself if Loki ever woke up feeling a little more the man and less the king!

But nay, dammit, he was a King. And as a king, he also had many causes for reprimand to put forth.

“I wonder what Odin King would think," he said, cutting, "should he know his son decided to ignore basic diplomatic form and the due respect owed a foreign king, by turning up on foreign soil without forewarning, and without seeking permission first.”

“Should my father seek to scold me on that regard, I would hasten to remind him the many unorthodox things he did to win my mother.”

“Was he unorthodox enough to ignore your mother’s wishes? Is this an Asgardian tradition, to barge in and take whatever you want?”

“I haven’t taken anything that wasn’t given me,” noted Thor, with an earnest look, almost humble, “except for this one chance to see you. What was I to do. You refused to speak to me.”

“Didn’t that suggest to you what my wishes regarding this visit might have been?”

Thor maintained a stubborn silence for a moment, his eyes into the distance.

“You are a spoilt brat,” declared Loki, between his teeth, “who can’t take no for an answer.”

“And you are a bullheaded fool willing to make yourself miserable out of pridefulness.”

Loki squinted furiously, pale with wrath. 

“We can spend the next few weeks schooling each other, but I think there are more pleasant ways to pass the time. I know which I prefer. And you?”

Thor had spoken with an unaccustomed softness that bordered on meekness; even his bearing seemed less arrogant for a moment. It disarmed Loki. It was his turn to button up his lip and be stubborn.

“Thor King, if I may!” interrupted Angrboda. She had broken from the main column and caught up with the kings. Right behind her, Lord Fandral. “Your friend is trying to communicate something, but I am not quite sure I understand the specific meaning of the word he’s using in this context…”

Fandral spoke something in the Aes tongue, with a cheeky smile. Thor arched his eyebrows.

“Milady, I’m not sure I should translate it,” he said.

“Oh, you mean he’s being…?! Oh, you!” She swatted Fandral’s arm playfully. Still, she seemed anything but shocked. Fandral laughed.

Angrboda breaking formation and not being reprimanded meant the rest of the courtiers on horses soon followed suit. Many rushed to gather close to the kings, fawning around Thor.

“My lord, is it true that the nomad city can go from Tellrna to Sunda in a day?”

“My lord, when your father defeated the Stragons, did they really offer to pay a tribute in the form of sea sponges?”

“My lord, I have heard that Asgardians take on the gods of any people they conquer. Do you really worship four different fertility deities?”

Thor laughed at much that was put before him, and amiably clarified the many misconceptions, without taking offence at any point. Loki was not sure he would have been so patient. He rolled his eyes and shuddered in embarrassment at some of the beliefs their Jotun courtiers held about Asgard. Did people not  _read_? Or what did they read, rather?

“Do you really hold games in Asgard in which exotic beasts are brought from the most remote corners of Yggdrasil, to show your prowess in taming them until they will let you ride them?”

“Aye, that is true,” said Thor. “It’s a great festival, and a most anticipated occasion for men and women of all origins and stations to exhibit their skills, seek patrons, and advance in the army if they wish. Or gain a post in the royal menagerie, which is a much contended assignment, for it brings great honour.”

“Sounds awfully exciting,” said Angrboda. “I suppose there are also spectacular failures.”

“And painful ones too. Many that do not have the skill will try their hand, inebriated with the promises of great rewards, and be taught the rough way that beasts have their pride as much as men.”

“So what _have_ you actually ridden, then, my lord?” asked Lord Svadilfari, who had been riding a few heads behind, and now approached until he gained on Thor.

“Anything that can bear my weight, from the great wolves of Svartalfheim to the long-tusked elephants of Midgard, and many more besides.”

“What about giant Jotun elks?” asked Svadilfari.

“Giant elks?”

“Similar to deer, but colossal in size.”

“I have ridden large deer,” declared Thor.

“I said similar, not the same,” noted Svadilfari.

“And you ride those here?” asked Thor.

“Yes, my lord, up north. Where horses cannot go, elks can break through eight feet of snow at a gallop. But they’re not natural riding beasts, they have not been domesticated. They can be herded and accustomed to riders, but they’re mistrustful, headstrong, and awfully temperamental.”

“I’ve been known to break in very reluctant mounts,” said Thor.

“Is that how you do it in Asgard? You _break_ them?” asked Svad. “We in Jotunheim believe in persuasion and seduction. We do not want our mounts broken, we want them willing.”

Even with his eyes firmly ahead, Loki could feel the sly stares traded between the courtiers, awfully entertained with that exchange.

“It’s a figure of speech,” replied Thor curtly, perfectly aware of the intention behind Svadilfari’s words. He sweetened his tone then. “But how, pray, does one persuade and seduce a mistrustful, headstrong, awfully temperamental, gigantic elk?”

“Much the same way one would persuade any other living, thinking, feeling thing, when one respects them,” replied Svad. “My tools are sincerity and a true, open manner. I offer a fair, balanced deal, give and take. I approach animals in good faith, just as among men my words speak nothing but my true mind.”

Oh, Thor’s squint added to that smirk were brutal.

“You live in a simpler world than I, my lord,” he said, with a pointed grin. “I would I could live dealing with men as I deal with animals, but being Overlord of the Nine Realms means that is simply not a wise or useful course of action.” Thor had taken care to pronounce his title with clarity and deliberation. “Now, my father, who was a learned, practical man, and a great king, perhaps the greatest that ever lived, taught me much about the arts of dealing with men. He held sincerity in low regard. Lies and truth, to a wily man who can listen, in the end will reveal the same, that which a man believes will suit him to express, and nothing more. The truth is matter of perspective, and it's not to be found in any man's words, for those only convey intentions, wishes, and schemes. A king must know that of himself, and find the way to speak without revealing what he doesn’t wish to reveal. But both kings and men who aspire to goodness should not rely much on words, but speak their heart through their deeds and actions.”

“Indeed, your great father and I would agree on much of that. Actions and deeds hold a more important, more permanent truth. What has been done can’t be undone.”

“Aye,” said Thor warily, suspecting a trap.

“So what is your opinion on lies, then, my lord?” asked Svad. “In my view, a lie is a word turned to deed, and a liar, though he should offer reasons and explanations to paint his action as something less dishonourable, will remain a liar.”

How could tension build up so thickly, when they were in the wide open plain between the southern coast and the Blue Mountains far away in the hazy distance. 

“I can agree with that,” granted Thor, with a dark look, “but we might not agree on what constitutes a lie. You might see the world with less nuance than I, Lord Svadilfari.”

“That may very well be,” conceded Svad. “In my world, I can afford to live without deception, speaking my true heart at all times, and offering it fully, in good faith, with nothing to hide.”

Thor’s expression had turned positively murderous.

“What an enchanted existence,” he said. “Though its triumphs and rewards are not the same as those one can aspire to in my world.”

“Does it not tarnish those triumphs, though, when fabrication and conceit feature so prominently in your world? Can one really claim then that they were fairly won? And what is won unfairly, shouldn’t in fairness be forfeited?”

The silence of the riding party was now only softened by the hooves of the horses, otherwise it would have been very heavy indeed.

“They have a saying in Midgard, Lord Svadilfari," said Thor darkly. "That all is fair in love and war.”

“A very un-Jotun notion,” said Svad, with lightness. “Is it not, your majesty?” he asked Loki.

Loki kept his eyes fixed on the road ahead.

“I’m afraid my mind wandered,” he said tightly. “I wasn’t really listening.”

“Do you know how we tame wild beasts in Asgard, Lord Svadilfari?” said Thor, with dangerous lentitude. “We have learned that all creatures desire to be tamed. Those who are in the wild just don’t know it yet. We show them the pleasures of submission, the liberation there is to be found in belonging and giving in.”

“An entirely different way of thinking from our culture,” said Svad. “My animals are not my thralls, they’re my free companions. I respect them. If anyone bows down to anyone here, it is me.”

“You keep bowing down to your heart’s content, my lord,” said Thor, with a grin. “Meanwhile, I’ll be taming them, and riding them.”

 _Sssskt!_ —A sparkle of silver had darted between the two men, eye level. It was a dagger, thrown with purpose and flawless aim, cutting their exchange in half, and hitting the shield of a guard who stood a few paces beyond dead centre. Svad and Thor turned to see Loki eyeing them both severely, then spurring his horse to retrieve the dagger and replace it in its sheath, strapped to the Jotun king’s leg. With one last warning stare, he rode off. The guard rubbed the new mark in his shield, with something akin to wonder.

For a moment, Svad and Thor looked at each other as brothers, joined in their admiration. A second later, their rivalry flared again, even more virulently than before. The prize they aspired to had just reminded them how very desirable it was.

With one last glower, Svad spurred his horse to put some distance between them. The Jotuns closed in on Thor again, to keep asking their questions. Thor replied just as graciously as before, though with less cheer, and with one eye firmly ahead, where Loki rode alone, and where Svadilfari followed only a few paces behind.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The first delegation intercepted the caravan at noon. Loki had been expecting it. The notables and elders from nearby villages had the opportunity of a lifetime to speak directly to the king, and they weren’t going to waste it. While on the go, Loki indeed greeted them, accepted their presents, heard their requests, and had his secretaries take note. No sooner had that delegation cleared than the next one was sighted. And that one hadn’t cleared off yet, when the next one was already spotted. Loki had not a moment of peace for the rest of the day. 

They were only just sending the last delegation on their way, when they saw the lights of the greeting party of the manor that would lodge them for the night. Loki endured the welcoming ritual, and duly answered the enquiries about his health and such. He had nothing but talk in his ear from Earl Oskrud, the master of the house, his seven relatives, and the two dozen local notables who joined them, all eager to have the attention of the king himself for the evening. Of course, there would be a feast, with music and dancing. Just what Loki needed right now.

Only the most elevated members of the caravan would occupy a room, the rest would have to take to the outbuildings and lofts, or the carts and wagons.  Loki was shown to the room he’d been appointed (that of the master of the house, no doubt). He dismissed the valets, even his own, the moment his buckles were unclasped. He just needed a moment to himself, to hear his own thoughts. He undressed, between groans and hisses of discomfort (his back and his behind would take a few days to get used to the road), and gratefully availed himself of the basin of hot water and clean towels he’d been provided with. He was already looking forwards to the hot springs further north, were one can plunge into a deep basin of black rock and let the scalding waters unknot even the most recondite snag in one’s bones. 

After he washed, he sent for the valets again, to be laced and clasped into his evening outfit. He selected simple garments, so he didn’t make anyone feel unworthy. It was a tricky balance between appropriately regal impressions (for a king owes his people something they can proudly bow down to) and a presumptuous, over-the-top, tacky display. 

The feast was to take place in the greatest hall of the manor, the size of which was indeed the reason for Byleistr to select it to lodge the king’s caravan. The tables were well assorted (Loki had commanded that it be bulked up with the caravan’s own stores, for he didn’t want to become a plague of locusts wherever they stopped), and although it was clear a huge effort had been made, it would have been impossible for a humble country manor to put up anything like the most ordinary do at the king’s palace. Thor, however, was making a nice fuss, praising everything from the furnishings in his room to the silver and the food. A gentleman born and bred, for sure. The lord and lady of the manor were walking on air, on the wings of the approval of the Overlord of the Nine Realms.

Loki took his seat. Next to him, of course, Thor. Loki saluted him as befits an equal.

“I see some thought has gone into modulating your outfit, your majesty,” commented Thor, modulating in turn the tone of his voice. “Elegant but subdued.”

“I guess in Asgard, red and bronze suit all occasions,” replied Loki, snarky.

Thor laughed amiably, as if Loki’s jabs caused him nothing but tickles.

“Though the house be of lesser distinction than the hall of the Vanir queen, I do hope you and your party have been made comfortable,” said Loki.

Again, Thor seemed more than anything amused and impervious to any taunting.

“We are. We don’t need much to feel at home, the Asgardians. It’s heartwarming to see the effort they have made to accommodate us foreigners. I’m sure they have spared no expense to lodge their king as he deserves.”

“I’d much rather see that money spent on keeping the roads in good condition, the woods safe, and the widowed and the orphaned fed and warm,” said Loki, in a whisper, so as not to cause offense.

"Yes, you would say something like that," said Thor. And he smiled with patronising endearment, the bugger.

It was the last occasion they had that night to speak alone together. One moment later, the Jotun king’s attention was reclaimed by representatives of the local guilds and yeomen, aldermen and women, and other notables, while that of the Asgardian king was entirely hogged by those who had mostly attended this feast for the party. There was entertainment, some provided by the king’s entourage, some by local singers and dancers. The seating arrangements, so painstakingly devised by the lord of the manor according to protocol and other delicate considerations much too subtle to discern from outside, were soon thrown in shambles, when the merrymakers decided their own, based solely on personal preference and individual interest of one kind or another. And soon, of course, they were not sitting down at all, for there was dancing to be done. 

As for Loki, he had had a long, hard day. More than anything, he wished to go to bed. He couldn’t yet, of course. Even if he had not been besieged by petitioners and well-wishers, he would still have had to stay put, for appearances. As he tried to stifle his yawns and maintain a wakeful, attentive expression to the many who approached him -all pulling, pulling, pulling, wanting a word, a look, a promise, chipping away at him piece by piece-, he was reminded of those innocent days of his childhood, when he’d get in a huff with a tutor or a minder, and stomping his feet he would long for the day when he’d be king, “ _and then I’ll be able to do whatever I want!”_  

The evening dragged on and on. Out of the corner of his eye, Loki kept tabs on what was happening at the fun end of the hall, with the dancers. Byleistr and Angrboda had taken it on themselves to instruct the Asgardians in the many steps and turns of Jotun dances  —complicated, full of nuance, and with great emphasis on grace and timeliness— and there was an entire hall of Jotuns wishing to learn the expansive, vigorous steps of the Asgardian style, which was mostly concerned with shows of strength and stamina, and seemed indeed quite a lot of fun. 

Fandral, Balder, and Volstagg were as eager as pupils as they were engaging instructors. As for Thor, Loki noticed him embroiled in an animated conversation with a keen group of locals. Loki wondered about Thor’s dancing. Seeing the king’s boisterous friends with their high kicks and acrobatics, and having experienced Thor’s stamina in the flesh, Loki thought it was only a question of gracefulness and practice. Did Thor like to dance at all?

“Oh Loki,” said Angrboda, leaning towards him across the table, her hair a frank disaster, the flush on her cheeks and neck as enchanting as Loki had ever seen it, coloured with exertion and wine, “you have to join us. I can’t teach them the _krás_ without a man, for neither By nor me can work out the steps from your side, and nobody does it as well as you!”

Loki levelled her with a dry look.

“I’m a little bit caught up at the moment.”

“Oh, live a little!” she said, but did not insist.

Which made Loki instantly suspicious, for he was no stranger to Angie’s penchant for mischief, and he’d never seen her give up so soon. And sure enough, it was immediately obvious she had let Loki go only because she had bigger game in sight.

“Thor King!” She swished away, in a cloud of perfume and charm.

Oh no, oh no no no… From his seat, Loki watched in horror as she held Thor’s hands and pulled, not taking a no for an answer. She deployed her dazzling smile, her rather charming stubbornness, her surprisingly strong arms, and eventually Thor just had to give in and get up. Loki was going to have her _beheaded_. He absolutely caught that wink she threw Loki over her shoulder.

Thor started to dance, and well then, that was Loki’s question answered. Out the window went Loki’s ability to focus for the rest of the night, and his undergarments. Because Thor, damn him, danced like he fucked, with his whole body and spirit, and with the refined economy of gesture, boundless joy, and sensual abandonment of a wild horse at a gallop. And soon enough, with all that vigorous hopping and twirling to the quick, cheerful Asgardian tunes, his face was gleaming with sweat, his hair had become a perfectly arresting, debauched mess, and the colour on his cheeks had turned positively obscene. Loki emptied his goblet.

“Another.”

Angrboda and Byleistr were now trying again to teach the royal Asgardian brothers Jotun dancing. Loki did not miss Angrboda’s sly look this time either when Thor positioned his big strong hands for the first lift, and they bloody spanned almost the entire circumference of her waist.

“Are you well, your majesty?” asked Earl Oskrud.

“Yes, but perhaps no more spirits. Is there any cold water?”

Because the Jotun gods are all for beating one up when one is down, they willed now that the Lady Sif should finally yield to temptation and desire to join in. For which, of course, she needed a Jotun partner to lead her steps. Loki observed her confer with Angrboda, and a moment later, Sif proffered her hand determinedly towards Lord Svadilfari.

Oh dear. The first thing Svadilfari did was take off his overcoat, and the bulk of his arms in that sleeveless leather vest that cinched in his waist was revealed. Thor proceeded to take off his overcoat, _and_ his vest. He was now down to a linen chemise.

“Actually, perhaps yes, more wine,” said Loki.

Now, when the tune was of Asgard, Thor and Svad competed over who could jump higher, who could hold his dancing partner the longest up in the air (to Angrboda’s and Sif’s delighted shrieks and peals of laughter), and who could perform the most impressive acrobatics. The men, of course, being what they were, never neglected to throw each other a dark look after every successful feat.

When the tune was of Jotunheim, calmer and more complex, Svad had the upper hand regarding performance, for he was a very accomplished dancer indeed, and knew the steps well, but Thor’s humour and charm whenever he put a foot wrong, oh my. He would laugh out loud at himself, radiating zest for life and stunning beauty. 

And of course, it was getting hot, all that spinning and turning, so Thor absolutely had to unlace the neck of his shirt, and being a man of extremes, he just kept on unlacing, more or less down to his navel, because fuck it, why not. That the ink markings on his shoulders and chest should become exposed like that was only a happy coincidence, for sure.

One moment later, Svadilfari got rid of his leather vest. The slight, sleeveless linen shift underneath was also no obstacle to discerning his own ink markings. 

“I’m perfectly fine, thank you,” snapped Loki at an overly attemptive page. He raised his glass. “Top it up.”

After a couple more spins, Thor let down his hair. One turn later, Svadilfari let down his.

“Just leave the bloody jug, will you.”

Now, Jotun dancing, while at first sight quite restrained, bubbled under the surface with suggestion and sensuality. It demanded that both bodies moved in time, mirroring each other’s evolutions and gestures. One had to be well attuned to one’s partner, maintain eye contact, and pay close attention. There were only fleeting moments of touch —one hand on the back, on the shoulder, a quick brush of fingers-, and whenever Svad held Sif’s hand, he’d throw Loki a longing look. And whenever Thor touched Angrboda, he’d stare at Loki, that wolfish look Loki had experienced in a tent in Asgard; seeing it again tonight conjured up in Loki’s mind a whole night of carnality, debauchery, and pleasure, the memory of which haunted him to this day.

Loki's head was swimming. Perhaps no more drink.

The bad news was, Loki could not have heard a word spoken to him for the last hour. The good news was, the petitioners and well-wishers were as entranced with the show as the rest of the hall. If they had spoken at all, it could not have been anything of consequence. 

All Loki could see, amid a cloud of spirits and pressing sexual arousal, was bare arms with muscles the size of melons, strong, inked chests exposed to the navel, pearled with sweat, huge hands holding grabbing leading dominating, and two flushed-cheeked, messy-haired, disheveled, gorgeous men desiring him from a distance, wanting to do _things_ to him, oh Norns, things Loki had no trouble imagining, and actually quite a bit of trouble keeping out of his mind.

There was a plot to end his life, wasn’t there? Angrboda and Byleistr had decided to bloody kill him, and have a jolly good time in the process.

Nothing was pouring now from the upturned jug. He gave it to the page.

“Another,” said Loki. 

 


	5. Fanart by Flowersalad

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flowersalad has drawn this amazing fanart for this verse and I just had to make sure you all saw it. I'm going to be spreading them around at one point, by there, have a look!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you Salad, and for the wonderful worldbuilding convos and brainstorming.
> 
> I named Loki's horse Ran because of you, of course! And can't wait to get to the other things we talked about! Thank you for these, they're amazing!

 

 

 

 


	6. A king's woes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An epistolary interlude, a dinner at Angrboda's that becomes a great chance at deepening the cultural understanding between the Asgardian and Jotun peoples, and the first snow of the year looks lovely on Thor's hair. What is Loki even doing with his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so fucking fed up of this chapter. Like, SO fed up.

 

_From Loki son of Laufey, great king of Jotunheim, the Northern Seas, and all the Isles,_

 

_My dearest Sigyn,_

 

_I am sure by now the rumours will have reached your ears, so I must as well own them. The talk of the realm is true: the king got stinking drunk on the very first stop of his northern tour. You will be shocked, I’m sure, for it is not my custom to indulge in strong spirits. And then you will laugh, knowing me as well as you do, for you’ll have no difficulty picturing in your head how foolish I must look while inebriated. Indeed, I cringe whenever I remember._

_And if that was not punishment enough, I was out of commission for days. Of course, had I been anyone else, I would have stayed put until I was completely recovered, but being the king, and on a tight schedule to boot, I had to go on. Take my word for it, and never get a hangover while on a road trip. There was no relief from the punishing headache and the nausea, either on horseback or hiding away in my carriage. I swear those northerners bottle distilled manticore root and call it wine. Angrboda did her best to alleviate the worst of it with her tonics, but those awful medicines are a punishment in themselves. Moral of the tale, I shall never drink another drop of the stuff while I live. The mere thought of it turns my stomach._

_The petitioners and the delegations did not cease while I was so shamefully indisposed. I made an attempt at greeting them, and very nearly embarrassed myself even further. I was forced to charge Byleistr with seeing them, and hope for the best, but when I emerged from my cave of pain, I was told there had been a problem with that. I was not importunate with it, because it resolved itself. The problem was that, to many of those pompous, self-important northern lords, the King’s sister was a disappointing substitute. They refused both her ear and her advice. The solution stepped forward by itself, in the bulky shape of Thor son of Odin, offering to sit beside Byleistr to hear the petitioners. It would seem that the Overlord of the Nine Realms_ is _a satisfactory alternative to the king for the northern lords. He heard the appeals, the complaints, the requests, and saw to their needs, settled their disputes, and made a number of promises on my behalf. Nothing we cannot live with, for Thor is extensively practiced in this kind of exercise, and it seems too that he is either uncannily intuitive, or he is much more clued in on the comings and goings of Jotunheim, even the smaller regional details, than I would have ever imagined. He proved himself as wise, prudent, fair, and shrewd as I could have wished. I hope Byleistr was listening and learned a few things. I won’t hold my hopes up, though._

_I was able to return to work in time, and Thor to his fun. He is having plenty of it. He takes in every new sight with the excitement of a schoolboy, and his keen mind thirsts for extensive, detailed explanations of all we see. Every living creature we encounter deserves his interest, every man and woman and child we meet on the road merits a moment of his time, and his sincere and full attention. I can’t wait to show him the horned whales in the strait, if we should be so lucky to encounter them during their summer migration._

_I myself am too enjoying this journey all the more for having him here. I wish I could convey the emotion that overtook me when we beheld the great waterfalls of Bleikrfross together. They were running as full as I have ever seen them, roaring wildly, drowning the world in their noise, and Thor’s contemplation of their indomitable power and magnificence made his eyes shine with wonder, meeting the water’s fierceness with an inner majesty all of his own._

_But he fills with enthusiasm and demands instruction about much smaller sights as well. He can listen for hours about our traditional brick and rock buildings, and the technicalities of the Jotun pointed arches and the deep pillar foundations of our long houses. He also asks to be allowed to walk extensively through any settlement we come across, be it a large town or a small hamlet, and he keeps marveling at how well they “operate” (his word), considering what an “unholy mess” they are, and expresses puzzlement often at the fact that such an irrationally laid settlement can thrive and prosper. He says that with sincere admiration, and I don’t have it in me to take offence. Our settlements are indeed an unholy mess, patched up and extended only according to the demands of the terrain and the generations who have inhabited them, and from a reasoned point of view, they indeed should not be able to “operate” at all. I swear, if I see one more building sprouting from a bridge over a street, or haphazardly clinging to a stack of rocks… I cannot say whether our people are overly ingenious or completely mad._

_As I write these lines, sitting by the window of this small manor, I can already make out the hazy presence of the Blue Mountains, perhaps two days ahead. They have been crowding the horizon for some time now, and the past has been much on my mind. I knew so much peace and content there, at Angrboda’s house, in the monastery. How I wanted then to make it my home, how I daydreamed about my father deciding in a moment of his madness to bestow the succession on either of my siblings, that I could remain in the monastery surrounded by the learning I loved, amidst the kind of society I am most comfortable with, that I could be freed from the scheming, backstabbing, shadowy dealings of the court. How the crown weighs on me sometimes. What I would do without you to help me carry it? Oh, I would sink._

_Kingship doesn’t seem to burden Thor. I don’t mean to say he’s less than a conscientious, dedicated ruler, knowing as I do how well Asgard runs, and how well served the Nine Realms are with their Overlord, but it quite baffles me to see him as he is now. He left the crown in Asgard, and with it the solemnity and gravity of his role, and he’s come here as a man, as light of heart and spirit as the humblest, freest child in the land. I envy his temperament in that regard immensely._

_I cannot hide an inner tremor at the thought of being in the Blue Mountains with Thor, a place that meant so much to me when I was young and carefree (or much more carefree than I am now), where I had my first taste of life away from my family, where I began to know the person that I was. In many ways, Asgard had an even deeper, further-reaching effect on me. I wonder how they will get along, those two capital landmarks of my life, when they are brought together at last._

_I am sure you will read much between the lines and glean all that I am hesitating to commit to paper about my secret heart and the object it has craved for nineteen months. This journey is an exquisite torment. His presence loomed so large before, when I had only one night to recall. I could tell myself I was building him up in my memories, filling in the voids with whatever my soul yearned for. I would not have been surprised if the real man had disappointed me. But he hasn’t. All those small hints at admirable aspects of his character have been confirmed with experience, all the things about him I wished in my heart to be true, that he would be worthy of my continued longing and obsession. He is real, and he is more than I could have imagined. He appeals to every part of me —body, soul, hopes, and dreams. I am so deeply beholden to him that sometimes I cannot breathe._

_But he has ceased to pester me with his oaths and words of love. I told him to back off, and he is doing just that. At times I even fear he’s given up on his quest. What if spending time with me has had the opposite effect on him? What if he too had built me up larger than life in his memories, and has found me underwhelming in the flesh? What if he doesn’t like me that much anymore? Oh, what a silly boy Jotunheim is saddled with for a king. Isn’t that exactly what I should be hoping for? That he should forget about me, so I could forget about him? But whatever shall I do if Thor doesn’t love me anymore? The mere thought is filling my eyes with tears._

_I must close now - I’m too upset. Here is what I get for dwelling on my foolish emotions. I wish I could have them cut off. If you find it in your mood to pray, please ask for my peace of mind. For Jotunheim’s sake, if nothing else._

_I shall turn to my work so that I can dispatch the latest reports with tonight’s posts, along with this letter._

_With my constant affection and my warmest feelings, always yours,_

_Loki._

 

___________________________

 

_From Thor the Odin Son, King of Asgard, Ruler of the Wandering City of the Plain, Overlord of the Nine Realms,_

 

_Dear Mother,_

 

_I hope this finds you well, and that the sweet, balmy air of your native Vanaheim is doing for your health and spirits as much good as you had hoped for. I know how hard this time of the year is for you, as it is for all of us who miss my dear father. You know I am not one to dwell excessively on grief and sorrow, but even I feel his absence more acutely on the anniversary of his passing._

_I apologise for not writing sooner. I may be a bad correspondent, but I am a loving son, and I swear upon Gungnir that you are never far from my thoughts. I have been much occupied. Yes, yes, I can already imagine your face reading this worn-out excuse, beseeching the heavens till your eyes roll white and shaking your handsome head in despair, but this time you must believe that it is true. The last weeks before I departed for Jotunheim were especially busy, what with so many last-moment preparations adding on to the reigning confusion my latest reforms have brought about. In fairness, I should have waited a few more months yet, until the changes were settled, but I simply could not wait any longer to see my love. Whom I have, of course, already encountered. More on that later._

_I am well. Jotunheim is an extraordinary realm in every regard, and wondrous sights and bits of learning present themselves to me constantly. I wish you could be here to discover them together, and I hope this might be possible yet. Not only are the vast, cold steppes quite unlike anything I have ever seen, and the animals that roam in them bigger, furrier, and more majestic, and not only is the sun that never sets a permanent cause of wonder among our Aesir party, but there are other things, like the sturdy walls of the Jotun long houses (I have never seen thicker), flattened close to the ground to endure the northern winters with their powerful storms, and the sharp angle of the roofs to prevent snow from piling up and them caving in with its weight. There are other dwellings which are dug into the ground, made of the strangest turf and topped with grass, and all you would see of them in passing is a round wooden door. I have been invited into some of these burrows and learned that they gather heat from the ground itself; some go very deep, into the caves which run with hot, bubbly water, where I have bathed. And the settlements themselves continue to baffle me. They are so quaint! Need has led to virtue and opportunity, with witty and resourceful solutions to problems that would never have occurred in the first place should those settlements have been erected following more meditated layouts. I think I am confusing the locals somewhat by insisting so much on seeing how the common folk live. I guess I am expected to ignore the lowlier classes and relate to the nobility alone?_

_As for the nobility. Proud and stubborn, conserving, nurturing, and nursing zealously their ancient feuds. I have had the chance to sit as judge when the King felt indisposed, and I must say, I’ve never met more supercilious, hard-nosed people. Good job I must deal often with Svartalfheim, not quite as obsessed with form and etiquette, standing, and reputation as the Jotuns seem to be, but good training nonetheless. And if there is one thing I have learned from Svartalfheim, is that the substance is of little interest in those matters, but details, protocol, expressions, and gestures are all. I think I was able to satisfy those who accosted us to obtain satisfaction on their petty grievances. Until next time, that is, for they will always be neighbours, will they not?_

_I have spoken of the commoners’ dwellings, but not yet of those where we have been lodged. The Jotun notables prefer spare decoration, but rich materials. They favour anything that resembles ice and snow in some way for the common and grand rooms, which they build to invoke an impression of vast, empty spaces that humble the visitor, as large as they can afford and the builder’s skill permits. However, they seem fonder of warm colors and furnishings in their private apartments. There is never much fuel to burn, so they dress to keep warm and sleep in beds that are like boxes on stilts, elevated above the cold currents closer to the ground. They pile up furs inside, and it is customary to share the bed, sometimes entire families at a time. They have devised the most peculiar adaptations I have ever seen to endure the cold and lack of resources, and not only survive but thrive. Hardy people, which Asgard will do well to respect and appreciate._

_We are currently the guests of the Lady Angrboda of Blárfjalland, the mistress of the domains which encompass the mythical Blue Mountains. I think you know her by reputation, from her extensive scholarliness, the many treaties she has written on the new uses she has discovered for the_ blársteinn _, and several new medicines she has developed using herbs, minerals, and other resources only found on Jotunheim, which have now become of great repute across the Nine Realms. Well, besides all that, she is witty, enchanting, lively, and delightful. I really like her, and I think she quite likes me. (Not in that way, though. Fear not, mother, I am not the hot-blooded, scatterbrained pup I once was; I have no mind for dalliances. My goal is set, and it does not falter.) She likes me in the sense that she is sympathetic to my suit of her dear friend, the Jotun king, of whom she is a close confidant. Their acquaintance goes back many years, since the king’s school days, which he spent here, in the monastery, and where he distinguished himself as a great scholar and a skilled seidrmadr. Her recollections of the king in his first youth much reminded me of the Loki I met in Asgard so many months ago, his candor and warmth, shyness compounded with boldness, his courage and his stubbornness and his pride, tempered and sweetened by his childish enthusiasm, and that adorable touch of naivety which so delighted me that night. Her words stirred my memories and did much to soften my feelings for him._

 _Soften, you ask? Had they hardened up, had your son’s passion cooled off? What could possibly happen to ever bring such a thing to pass, when for nineteen months I thought of little else but him, and felt nothing but yearning? Oh, I wish I had nothing but good news to give you. I indeed envisaged my arrival to Jotunheim rather as a triumphal homecoming, and I expected to be greeted like the liberator of a besieged city that has undergone untold deprivation and hardship. It wasn’t quite so. As it turns out, the poor besieged city had sought some relief for its deprivation and hardship in the hands of_ another _liberator. In fact, said besieged city was availing itself of such relief the very moment I walked in! His well-kissed and disheveled appearance left no doubt as to what he had just been occupied with (I must say, it wasn’t only my anger that was stirred seeing him like that, but my desires as well). And I, who had planned our meeting for months, who had lovingly imagined it and daydreamed about it and subsisted on that sweet fantasy to endure our separation, instead of a welcome with gilded crowns and flower petals, was greeted with cold, harsh words, and the slap across the face of finding my love in the arms of another._

_I expected to learn many things on this journey, but jealousy wasn’t one of them. I had encountered the concept during my studies of the Jotun heart and spirit in their poetry, but I doubt I had ever experienced it myself. Even now, I am not entirely sure this is the malady that ails me, for I have learned the symptoms, and they don’t quite match. For example, they say jealousy clouds one’s judgement, and yet I find I see more clearly than anyone else. This Lord S. who now the King so favours, for example. Everybody seems to hold him in high regard; he is popular among notables and commoners; it seems it is only I who can tell what he really is at heart, nothing but a power-thirsty scoundrel who will stop at nothing to tear L.’s heart away from me, the villainous snake. Couldn’t be more obvious. Why am I the only one who sees that? I’m being completely unbiased, just calling what I see._

_After my extensive studies on the nature of the Jotun monogamous mindset, I know I tread very dangerous grounds. I hope it’s not too late, but it will not be easy to secure L.’s affections again, for he bears me much ill will. Sif says if L. was made aware of my struggles and exertions in Asgard, all would magically set itself to rights, but she hasn’t researched the Jotun culture as I have. They are great romantics, and though L. does cover his tender heart with the cloak of a cold, passionless politician, I have known him as he is under that cloak. He is as soft as a cream-stuffed honey bun, and it’s not a heavy ledger of facts and figures that will make him let me into his heart again. It is not the King of Asgard that will seduce him, but the man he fell for that night in Asgard -Thor._

_Remembering your teachings and your warnings about my tendency to become pushy and overbearing, I am trying not to pester him with impetuous words of love (though it is hard, for how many and how often do they crowd up right behind my teeth, pushing to come out), but remind him instead of the things that first attracted him to my person. Our brief night together taught me much about the things that get under his skin. Displays of brawn and stamina, for example, tend to impress him. Since I unfortunately cannot show him those yet in the same way I did in Asgard, alas, I must do so by proxy. Dancing seems to be a decent substitute, as well as exercising in general (although he seems to react most visibly when I am on a horse), especially when I exercise in only my breeches. So I do that as much as I can._

_And I swear I would have him in my arms already, were it not for That Villain. He too is aware that the king is partial to a well-formed, muscular, virile body, and that shows of physical prowess involving a certain amount of nudity and manly sweat greatly affect the king. And so, if I am exercising my horse, so does he. If I am practicing the javelin throw, so does he. So on so forth. And of course, if he decides one morning that he will be practicing pole-fighting, I cannot just look and walk away, for what would everyone think, that I lag behind in that regard? So I must engage in pole-fighting too. It is extremely tiresome and annoying, for I would much rather do other, more enlightening things, and instead I must waste time and energy to prove to all why Thor son of Odin is the Overlord of the Nine Realms, and That Villain isn’t. The most irritating thing of all is that I can’t engage him directly, for everyone knows about our feud, and it would be below my dignity. It seems we are far from reaching a final judgement on who is Mightiest and Worthiest, for of course I am not to throw my all into petty contests of archery and horsing, me, a true warlord, conqueror of the Dark Elves, destroyer of the Tyrant of Ur, vanquisher of the Thief Nation of the Eastern Roads, hero of the battle of New York. Which means I must endure with dignified equanimity whenever That Villain comes on top on a stupid race or trial. At least I can say the other travelers in the caravan are seldom bored._

_I must now end this letter, for I am expected at dinner. I do hope this finds you in decent spirits, though you miss your husband still. I wish my own mood were brighter, and that I had more cheerful tidings to convey. I will not surrender, for my quest is fair and my heart is true, but Norns, ’tis quite a pain, a love quest._

 

_With all my love,_

_Your son Thor_

 

_____________________

 

After more than two weeks on the road, the atmosphere among the company of travelers was most amiable. Yesternight, the servants had prepared them a warm welcome, but being tired from the long journey of the day, most members of the caravan had cut the evening short. This second night, however, feeling most refreshed from the slow, restful day, occupied with only mild exertions, promised a different feel altogether and that all guests would be able to enjoy the offerings of the house of Blárfjalland in full.

The musical style of the region was known for its melodious, jolly tunes, able to conjure up much nuance with little flourish. It was a fine accompaniment to the fare that was being served. The Lady Angrboda commanded a generous table. She took great joy in novelty and surprise, but rather than empty displays without substance, it was truly new flavours she most eagerly craved. She had scouts seeking for her in the furthest reaches of Yggdrasil for unknown, adventurous, exotic delicacies she had never tasted before.

Since her Asgardian guests had traveled extensively, and had experienced these foodstuffs at their very source of origin, they were able to bring new perspectives on the subject, and she was thrilled to hear about them. It made for lively conversation.

“I had never tasted it in pickled form,” commented Thor on a type of root. “But of course, how could it have traveled all over to you otherwise; it spoils so quickly after it’s picked.”

“But do you care for it at all?” asked Angrboda.

“Well, the sourness of the preservative certainly adds a new dimension to it.”

She laughed.

“Thor King, the diplomat!”

Thor laughed in turn.

“We usually have it raw, chopped, mixed with other roots and vegetables, and dressed to taste. It’s not particularly flavoursome, so it’s the crunchy texture and its bright coloration it’s most appreciated for. As a pickle, this soft, soggy feeling in the mouth… Well, it’s different.”

“It is most frustrating, I admit! Some things travel much better than others, I suppose.”

“You must come to the fields of Burane where this root grows, and try it fresh, like I’ve described.”

“Oh, I wish that I could!” she sighs.

“What’s stopping you,” said Loki flatly, one of his few interventions this evening so far.

“Oh, I don’t know, perhaps running the country’s foremost house of learning and house of healing, _and_ the _blársteinn_ mines, as well as my estate?” she snarked.

“Your people are capable enough. They could do without you for a few months,” said Loki.

“I can’t believe these words coming from _your_ lips,” said Byleistr. “After all it’s taken to drag you away from the city, even for just a few weeks!”

“Angrboda has headed the house of Blárfjalland for a long time, and it runs along smooth tracks. I’m still trying to lift the kingdom off the ground,” argued Loki defensively.

“Jotunheim seems like a well-oiled mechanism to me,” said Thor.

“You are being shown the nice side,” countered Loki. “The backstage is not so picturesque.”

“Nonsense,” intervened Angrboda. “You have done an excellent job at it already, in very little time. You just… struggle to let go. It’s always been like that.”

“Oh?” enquired Thor.

“Yes, it’s a personality trait which already showed when Loki was a student here.”

“Oh, here we go,” grumbled Loki.

“You find it hard to relinquish control and accept help. You are exceptionally demanding and nobody ever measures up to your exacting standards. Am I wrong?”

Loki was not enjoying being the centre of that conversation. He was feeling himself blush. Thor and Svadilfari were looking.

“I suppose you know him well enough,” said Thor, an ominously smarmy smile on his face, “but in my experience, Loki rather enjoys relinquishing control.”

Loki spat out his drink and fulminated Thor with a look of murder, ears steaming red. Svadilfari’s gaze, meanwhile, when Loki dared meet it, had acquired several layers of something that made his belly churn.

“Well, he’s always been under a huge lot of pressure,” said Helblindi, oblivious. “Perfection and nothing less is what people have always expected from Loki. And with our father being so stern and hard to please, he’s never heard enough praise for his accomplishments, not from he whom he needed it most.”

“Can we please stop talking about me?” grumbled Loki, ears hot pink.

“Lord Fandral says Thor King is not used to much praise either,” translated Balder. “That his father was also rather brutal in his criticisms, finding fault in anything but sheer perfection, and very niggardly in bestowing recognition.”

“Is it my turn to be talked of as if I wasn’t in the room now?” protested Thor amiably enough. “Because in that case I’ll just step out in the garden and you can all have your fun without me.”

Angrboda laughed, then said, “It’s the way of the old generation everywhere, it seems, regardless of our culture! Our elders believed that the stick rather than the carrot will bring up the young as they should be. I have done a great deal to try and change that in our monastery. I find that I personally learned better and more deeply the things I came to love rather than the things I was force-fed, and that the most effective teachers were those who nurtured and conveyed their passion for their teachings, rather than those who demanded and exacted from us. And so, I endeavour to bring to my monastery people who love what they teach, and love teaching, and we are already reaping the benefits. The next generation of Jotun scholars and sages will be the envy of the world.”

“That is a most praiseworthy enterprise,” said Thor. “I would wish to send some of our gifted young to you to further and complete their education, if you would have them.”

“That would be an honour, Thor King,” said Angrboda. “I shall drink to that.”

“Here here.”

“What sort of things are taught in the monastery?”

“Oh, all sorts. From all that concerns the stars to the fungi in the forest, the beasts in the sea and land… We teach every language, and also more technical wisdom, such as the making of maps, the correct laying of bricks and tracing of roads, healing science of course…”

“What about parenting?” asked Thor. “Rearing children?”

“We learn that in our own families.”

“Which explains a lot of things,” grumbled Byleistr.

“And bodes very ill for the future generations,” snarked Loki in retort.

The siblings gave each other a fake, toothy grin.

“What about the practice of love?” asked Thor. “How is that taught in your realm?”

Angrboda smiled slowly, for her eyes, now sparkling with humour, had caught Loki’s gesture, turning away to try (in vain) to conceal the flush already lighting his cheeks.

“Well, we learn from each other, as best we can” said Angrboda. “How do Asgardians do it?”

The bitch. She had chosen her words with care to aggravate Loki’s fluster.

“Isn’t it required that one partner should be more experienced the first few times?” asked Thor.

Angrboda’s eyebrows arched in delighted surprise. She was loving this turn in the conversation.

“I can see why that would be desirable, but… I’m afraid it’s not. Is it mandatory in Asgard?”

“More like customary,” said Thor.

“How very fascinating. In my country, you see, it’s just… kids’ games that turn heavier as the body and urges grow.”

“Bedsport is not a game in my country,” said Thor. “It’s a grave business. It must be done well. It must be taught and learned, and we have a number of customs surrounding it to encourage the best possible practice of it.”

“Indeed,” purred Angrboda. Her eyes, and everybody’s gaze in the room, kept flicking between Thor and Loki—except for Svadilfari, who seemed in a foul mood tonight, and would rather watch the wine twirling in his cup.

“Would Thor King care to enlighten us as to some of those practices?” said Angrboda.

“There’s the First Night thing, isn’t there?” Byleistr butted in.

“Oh, yes,” said Thor. “That is a very important occasion in the life of any youth.”

“I have heard about it,” said Angrboda, her face revealing nothing (it didn’t have to, every single person in the room was well clued up). “What does it entail, exactly?”

“Well, first of all, a match must be made, between an experienced lover, and an untried, virgin one. Sometimes families encourage those, sometimes the experienced partner will court the virgin, or sometimes the virgin will solicit the experienced partner. In any case, it must be done properly and respectfully.”

“How is experience gauged and judged sufficient?”

“The experienced party must boast at least seven previous bed partners who are willing to speak of him or her well, to the virgin party and their family. And seven elders, linked by blood or other bonds, must be willing too to speak favourably of the moral fibre and worthiness of the experienced partner.”

“Must the virgin present any credentials?”

“Maturity, a minimum age, willingness. Their elders advise on their maturity or lack thereof, and of course the virgin must testify convincingly as to their own willingness.”

“And when the match is declared acceptable?”

“Time for First Night. It is customary for the experienced partner to offer gifts, as splendid as they can afford. Well, this is an old tradition, and many nowadays are satisfied with symbolic tokens of sentimental, rather than intrinsic value. Some elders frown at that.”

“Some virgins will court their desired First Night partners with gifts too,” intervened Volstagg, with the mediation of Balder.

“I don’t approve of that,” said Thor gruffly.

“What was that?” enquired Byleistr, regarding something the lord Hogunn had muttered under his breath.

“He said Thor sounded exactly like his father then,” translated Balder.

“Why don’t you approve, Thor King?” asked Angrboda.

“There are some who become very popular, very sought after First Night partners, and are in huge demand, and there are _some_ , unscrupulous people, who will turn it almost into a business.”

“Word gets around, what can I say,” said Fandral through Balder, with a dashing, self-satisfied grin, after he had heard the translation of Thor's last remark. “Wouldn’t be polite to reject that which is given freely.”

Thor cast a dark look at his lieutenant.

“Do you too get courted often in this manner, Thor King?” asked Angrboda.

“Being king, well. People seek favour in any way they can. Even thrusting their sons and daughters the king’s way. Had I not made my mind very clear on that matter, I suppose they would, yes.”

“I take it you don’t appreciate that.”

“Like I said, I think First Night is a very meaningful occasion in a young one’s life, to blissfully learn the delights of the flesh with one who will offer to teach them gladly. It is not for their relatives to seek political or social advancement.”

“Who was your first?” asked Loki, eyes on his cup of wine. Even so, he could feel the Asgardian King’s eyes heavy when they fixed on him.

“My lord Heimdall, it was,” answered Thor.

And at that point, the kings gazes did meet, Loki’s curious, Thor’s knowing. The tension in the room became tangible for a moment.

“Oh, indeed!” interrupted Helblindi, an uncontainable exclamation, excited with that bit of gossip. And from his expression, perhaps even picturing in his mind.

“Who is this Lord Heimdall then?” asked Angrboda. Hard to say if it was cruelty or kindness, pretending that she had never heard of him.

“King Odin’s right hand man,” contributed Sif. She could speak a bit of Jotun. “A mighty warrior and a sage counselor.”

“A most dashing man in my father’s retinue,” added Thor, with a warm smile.

“And how did that come about? Did he court you?”

“Oh, no, he never would have dared!” said Thor.

“He never would have _cared_ ,” jeered Fandral. “How long did it take you to wear him down, Thor?”

“There were politics involved,” protested Thor. “Issues of favouritism and such.”

“About ten months,” said Sif. “He hounded him from Harvest to Spring Ball. _Go back to your mother’s skirts, pup_ , he would tell him.”

“He was pleased with my suit,” claimed Thor stubbornly, “so he made it last.”

“And then Spring Ball came, and nobody had asked Thor…”

“Everybody believed I was already spoken for!” declared Thor. “And everybody was a bit scared of my father.”

“It’s always been more your mother they fear,” said Volstagg.

“So anyway, Thor begged and begged…”

“I seduced him!”

“And finally, seeing that nothing else would put an end to this nuisance, Heimdall relented.”

“That must have been awkward,” sniggered Fandral.

“What?” asked By.

“When Lord Heimdall had to sit down to formally request Thor’s First Night from his parents. He went back years with Odin, didn’t he? _Hey, old sport, your pain-in-the-ass son wants me to bed him, what do I do?_ ”

Thor threw a chunk of bread at Fandral’s head.

“And the ceremony, oh Norns, what an unforgettable event,” laughed Volstagg. “It was the prince’s First Night, so it had to be absolutely majestic. And Thor had made such a pest of himself for so long (he had been requesting to be allowed to have a First Night since he was, what, eight? _I am ready to make love, mother, I am ready!_ Poor Frigga!) that they wanted to put Thor through the grinder for it.”

“He was so nervous,” giggled Sif.

“Were you really?” asked Angrboda.

“Shaking like a leaf!” confirmed his friends.

“It’s a fun, cheerful occasion, you see,” explained Volstagg. “The ritual itself is solemn, but the spirit is joyful and rather lewd. Much jest is made on the backs of the partners.”

“Oh, god, I remember your father as one of the elders vouching for you maturity,” said Fandral. And he added in a gruff, crackled voice, “ _That was sarcasm, by the way._ ”

“And when the seven previous lovers speak, that’s always fun,” said Volstagg. “Lots of innuendo and double entendres.”

“And the puns,” added Sif.

“And there is this big oaf at sixteen, already overgrown and thinking himself a man, red as a beet while men and women line up to praise in verse his intended’s prowess in the sack, offering the audience an inventory of all that awaits the young pup.” Fandral was having such a great time of it. “I thought our mighty Thor here would faint at the first kiss!”

“That wasn’t our first kiss,” mumbled Thor between his teeth.

“Oh? Pray tell!” begged Fandral.

“It was right after the king and queen gave their blessing,” said Sif matter-of-factly. “They stepped out of the yurt and Heimdall embraced him. _If I am to bed you I might as well kiss you_ , he said, if I remember it correctly. Bent him backwards from the waist, gave him the smooch of a lifetime, and almost killed poor little besotted Thor right there and then.”

Thor was so becomingly embarrassed, not even both hands on his face could hide the furious redness of his skin.

“I had such a crush,” he said.

“Was that your first kiss?” asked Loki.

As before, Loki’s voice seemed to sober Thor up.

“No.”

“No, that would be me, years and years before,” said Fandral, raising his hand. “We’ve always been close, haven’t we, my darling.”

“Like a limpet and a rock,” jeered Thor.

“Did he live up to expectations?” asked Angrboda, wagging her eyebrows. “Lord Heimdall, I mean.”

“It would be some time before I had anything to compare him with, but the more experience I gained, the more I appreciated his prowess, indeed.”

“You looked quite appreciative already the very morning after,” said Sif.

“Oh god, he had a thousand mile stare in his eyes, and he could barely walk. And he was so smitten, his knees wouldn’t carry him, not the other thing. Though indeed, the _other thing_ too,” laughed Volstagg.

“Took him months to recover,” contributed Hogunn.

“Oh. My. God?!” gasped Angrboda.

“No no no, I mean from his crush!”

“Was it just the one night then?” asked Helblindi.

“I’m afraid so, yes,” said Thor.

“Is that customary too?” asked Angrboda.

“No, the relationship can go on for as long as the partners wish,” explained Fandral, “but in this case…”

“It was Heimdall’s one condition,” said Thor. “Just one night.”

“Politics, I gather?” supplied Angrboda.

Thor shrugged sadly.

“He didn’t want to upset the balance of my father’s cabinet. Being my long-time mate might have done just that.” _Sigh_. “But what a night it was.”

“I do wonder,” said Byleistr, throwing little looks towards Balder, “is it common in Asgard for boys to be initiated by men?”

“And girls by women, yes,” said Thor. “It’s not set in stone, but it’s considered good taste.”

“In what way?”

“One must learn about one’s own body before venturing to share it with another, especially one with an alien form,” elaborated Thor. “How is one to learn all that one can feel from a lover with an entirely different body? And how can one best learn what is pleasing and how to please? And then, once one is schooled in their own body, they can meet if they wish another with a different body, and both can share what they have learned to much greater profit, for they have the words to ask and offer what their desires inspire.”

“And of course, it helps with preventing teenage pregnancies,” said Angrboda.

“Yes, that too.”

“Do you have anything like First Night in Jotunheim?” asked Fandral.

“Well, there’s the, uh, the wedding night,” said By. “One is expected to remain chaste until then.”

“I am sorry, what was that word again?” asked Thor.

“What word?”

“Chaste. Never heard it before.”

“Oh, I don’t know it in the Aesir tongue,” explained Angrboda. “It means, uh, untouched. Complete sexual abstinence.”

“Wait a moment. Jotuns usually formalise their marriage unions at the age of twenty or thereabouts, don’t they?”

“Yes, sometimes even later.”

Thor blinked.

“I… don’t understand.”

“What?”

“Complete sexual abstinence until you’re twenty? How…? Don’t people… fall ill or something? Are you given some potion to stun your impulses or…?”

Angrboda laughed.

“No. When we say one is expected to remain chaste, it’s no more than that, a traditional expectation our forebears put in the First Books. A few traditionalists do abide by it, but in reality, experimentation can and does occur often before marriage, illicit though that may be.”

“It’s always like this with you Jotuns,” laughed Thor. “You say one thing and do another.”

“Then Thor King should fit right in,” grunted Loki.

That cut Thor’s laughter sharply.

“Our laws and customs were laid down by our elders more than a thousand years ago, and some even existed before the start of our count of time,” elaborated Loki, his words clipped. “They had purpose and usefulness then, and contributed to an organised and healthy society. Unlike new-born Asgard, we are a very ancient nation, with traditions that have been passed down to us and have acquired intrinsic value, beyond the practical usefulness they might have had in the past. We respect them and honor them. But times change, and so must we, if we must survive and thrive. It’s a tricky equilibrium, and we do what we can to both preserve the forms and ways of our ancestors, and not become choked and destroyed by them. We want to preserve the moral foundations of our culture, for they bind us together. They are a common language all of us Jotuns understand and can relate to. That is the purpose and the usefulness of those old customs today, and the reason why we hold onto them. So, yes, our books and customs say this is the proper way, and we honor those teachings, but we can’t always abide by them strictly in real life. In sum, yes, we say one thing, and do another. Some people might call it hypocrisy, but that might make them hypocritical in turn. For they have behaved in a no less devious fashion, called it political necessity, and demanded to be excused for it.”

A long, tense silence. Whether everyone in the room could know what Loki was referring to was of no consequence. It was his tone, sharp and cutting, and his fixed stare, full of hostility, what was making the atmosphere nearly unbreathable.

“Is holding onto old grudges also a tradition of your people,” were Thor’s words, tightly spoken.

“We nurse our feuds and enmities for centuries, haven’t you seen?” hissed Loki in response.

A long moment passed in silence. Then Thor King dropped his gaze, and in so doing he seemed to depose his arms. His tone when he spoke next did not seek confrontation.

“Asgard is a young nation indeed,” he said thoughtfully. “But it is formed of many others, much older, and many of them used to be long-time deadly foes. We have great experience in disarming feuds and softening hardened hearts.”

“Oh yes? And how exactly do you accomplish such a prodigious feat?” snarked Loki.

Thor didn’t bite. His tone remained soft.

“Encouraging the intermingling between members of different peoples and clans and tribes as much as we can, by bonds of friendship or family. In other words, we try to bring old enemies together through love.”

“Oh, I am familiar with those methods, come to mention it,” said Loki, his tone dangerously light now. “The Asgardian way of fostering loyalty and mutual trust. Though we don’t call it love in this lands.”

“No? What do you call it.”

“Fucking,” he hissed. “And manipulation. We don’t think them honorable.”

The expression on Thor’s face now was most assuredly sour.

“Lady Angrboda, enlighten me please. Is this the usual way to address one’s guests in Jotunheim? For in Asgard we would consider that tone quite rude.”

“Lord Balder, enlighten me in turn,” interrupted Loki, “is it the traditional Asgardian way for guests to turn up at someone’s door when repeatedly asked to stay away?”

A very, very fine Svartalfheim blade would have struggled to cut the following silence, and the iron lock connecting the hateful gaze between the kings. But who needs a blade when one has Lady Angrboda. One gesture and the pipers started to play the loveliest tune, and following her lead, several people rose to dance.

In the ensuing disorder, Loki was able to sneak outside with at least a pretence of discretion, though many pairs of eyes were always trained on him.

The couple of servants who had been biding their time in the courtyard scuttled when they saw him. Quite a thunderous picture he must have cut.

The noise from the party swelled again behind his back, and then dimmed, as the doors opened and closed for someone who had followed him outside.

“Loki,” came Thor’s soft call.

Had it been anything but the whisper Loki remembered from his night in Asgard, he would have been able to keep walking. Because it was indeed that voice, he could not. And Thor spoke again, and Loki couldn’t help but listen.

“I beg your majesty’s forgiveness. I spoke lightly and without much thought. If I offended you or anyone in the hall with my careless and much unfortunate remarks, I offer my sincere apologies. They were meant in jest. I admire this great nation’s sense of honor and uprightness very much. I only wish I would have had the opportunity to speak these words in the hall.”

Damn him. Loki had been seeking a row, whether he was willing to own it or not, a reason to scream and stomp his foot and be angry. How foolish and undignified. How ridiculous. And how could he continue down that path now, after Thor’s words. Gritting his teeth, he did what he had to do.

“I accept your gracious apologies,” he said. “And I in turn offer mine. I am a very poor host indeed. I will endeavour to do better. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” He needed to run. He was being so _awkward_. Run like when he was a little boy. Just run away. Not a prince, not the crown’s heir, just a little boy who’s had enough and wants to go hide under the blankets of his box bed, and not be seen.

“Please, stay for a moment,” begged Thor. And again, it was that voice which still spoke to him in dreams, the ever-fading memory of the loveliest night of his life.

“Whatever for,” he muttered.

Thor approached. He seemed hesitating, as if he was looking for something to say.

“Uh. Please forgive my big mouth,” said Thor.

“I already said your apologies were accepted.”

“Yes, you did.” Thor approached some more. “I just wished to make it clear it was not just politics.”

“It’s clear.” And Loki made to walk away.

“Loki,” said Thor, holding his arm. It sent a current of fire all through the Jotun king.

“What,” he said, with hardly any voice at all, and quite a lot less coldness than he had intended.

“Must every word we speak to each other be unkind?” asked Thor softly.

“I don’t know what you mean. I am perfectly civil, most of the time.”

“Civil,” sighed Thor. “Loki…”

“You’ll wear out my name.”

Thor smiled, then a glint of mischief, and a lower, more intimate voice.

“Low-kee, Low-kee…”

“Stop that at once. Not the time or the the place.”

“Oh, but you mean there _is_ a time and place?” said Thor playfully, for he thought they were doing well, and there was room for playing.

“Yes,” said Loki, his tone cutting. “The nomad city, nineteen months and fifteen days ago.”

Thor’s smile fell. But so did Loki’s fighting stance, and his urge to flee. He was sad.

Thor cast his eyes around the courtyard, meditative.

“Why do you never ask why it took me so long to come to you?” he asked at length.

“Because I can guess the answer on my own.”

“Can you? You might guess wrong.”

“I might. Then again, I might have read trustworthy reports concerning a visit to Midgard, and a visit to Vanaheim.”

“Oh, that.” And a little secret smile returned the light to Thor’s eyes.

“Yes, that. Why do you smile.”

Thor’s grin only turned wider.

“You’re jealous,” he noted.

“Jealous?” snapped Loki blushing bright pink. “What I am is enraged about those promises of love, your empty vows, _no other lover will satisfy me, no other fire shall warm me_ , and the very next thing you do…!”

“You Jotuns and your monogamous mindset,” laughed Thor.

“Our monogamous…?! You condescending bastard! And stop all that damned smiling! Why do you smile!”

“Because you’re jealous, and because you care. You care for me still. Oh, Loki…” Thor tried to hold Loki’s hands between both of his.

“I do not!” protested Loki, snatching his hands away. “It’s your dishonesty and your sheer gall that enrage me and… Will you bloody stop smiling!”

Thor was laughing, and Loki was fuming, and he was determined to leave.

He would have done so — he was turning already. But just then, a snowflake fell, like a small cold feather, the icy down of the winter bird. And then another, and another, and another… And Thor turned his face towards the sky, and soon closed his eyes with a blissful smile as the snowflakes touched his skin.

“What… what a prodigy,” murmured Thor, and held both palms up.

“Only the first snowfall of the year,” said Loki. “It’s good luck to stand beneath it.”

“Is it?”

How wonder and awe illuminated Thor’s face. How young and sweet and bloody _adorable_ he looked.

“Is it the first time you have experienced snow?” asked Loki.

“I have seen it on the mountains, but I have never stood beneath it as it fell,” said Thor. His voice was a marveled whisper. Then he looked around them, with intrigue. “Such a sudden silence, how strange.”

“Yes,” said Loki. “And when it has coated the world, you should see the light,” he whispered. “The most mysterious pink glow enfolds the earth. And I am sure you have never quite known anything like the crunch underfoot when you walk on it. You will soon, further north. And the marvelous shapes of the morning dew coating everything in glass.”

Thor drunk every last one of Loki’s words with a gaping mouth and an expression of fascination. His eyes dazzled with wonder, pure as a child’s. Snow was glistening on his hair and beard and the furs around his neck and shoulders, and he sparkled as if bedecked in sapphires and diamonds. Loki’s yearning sigh rose in the frozen silence, and their gazes met under the snowfall. No-one could have measured how long that moment lasted. Loki’s entire body and soul were screaming _yes_ , and _come_. Thor stepped closer.

“Wow! Snow!” came Balder’s excited cry from the doors of the hall, and with it the noises of the party still going strong inside. The Asgardians were pouring out to enjoy the snowfall, along with a crowd of cheery Jotuns.

Loki fled. He felt Thor’s eyes on his back every step of the way.

He’d been so close. How he had desired it. Giving in, letting go, letting Thor have it all. Why not? Why deprive himself? Why deny himself a touch of the blissfulness he had known in Thor’s arms? Wasn’t life hard and dull enough? Why not enjoy a little light, a little bit of milk and honey?

But Thor would leave soon, and the misery of Loki’s lonely days would become more miserable still for having known again that bliss he was left to make do without. He had almost forgotten how good it was. Why refresh the memories, why wipe the dust off and make them more poignant. Let them rest.

 

* * *

 

_Dear Sigyn,_

_I write one day’s journey away from Lord Svadilfari’s hold of Hrossbalkrheim. There, spurred by the very mischievous Lady Angrboda, an old-fashioned game of gourd is to be held. The teams of eight formed days ago, comprised of a mixed bag of Asgardians and Jotuns on each side, and have been training daily. And Thor captains the one team, and Svadilfari captains the other._

_How in Hel could this come to pass, you might ask? Long bloody story short, Angie argued it was the way to decide once and for all who was the superior athlete, for Thor and Svadilfari had been competing in athletics and horsemanship and no clear winner could be found. “It is safer and more wholesome that their obvious rivalry expresses itself under the limitations of clear rules and with the appropriate ritual.” That’s what she said. So why not try to decide who is supreme in a brutal, full-contact sport, making them physically fight each other, in Svad’s very own house, with the excuse of tossing a goddamn gourd around, and only the small business of proving their virility and prowess on the line? I swear some people just want to watch the world burn._

_Yes, I said people, in plural, for everyone seems to think it’s the grandest idea and they watch the training sessions with bloodthirsty eagerness. Most are shamelessly anticipating the moment when Thor and Svad shall be rolling in the mud together, in nothing but the customary loincloths and blue ointment. They say it’s going to be fun. It’s going to be war, that’s what it will be, and there will be blood, and I’m the only one who seems one bit concerned about it! I wish you were here to beat some sense into them all!_

_On the plus side, this far north, parties of petitioners are few and far between, so I am finally having some time off. Problem is, I’m spending it worrying over those two knuckleheads killing each other in the mud. Naked. Painted blue. Over me. Norns have mercy._

_By the roar outside, I can tell another training session has started. I must run, lest the ladies in the retinue embarrass the realm with their shameless fawning over the brawn of the players._

_With warmth and constancy, and bearing you in my thoughts at all times, always yours,_

_Loki._

 

__________________

 

_Dear Heimdall,_

 

_Glad to hear everything continues to be under control back home. Not that I worried for one moment, for whom could be better than you at keeping things as they should be in my absence._

_No progress on the L. front since my last letter. Still very hostile. I try to keep my hopes up, and I am now quite positive that his heart hasn’t entirely passed to that Massive Jerk, but whenever we get a glimmer of a chance at getting closer, something comes between us. Most frustrating. Yes, the Lord. S. that I mentioned, still a problem. That fucker has a pair of balls on him. I have been challenged to a game of gourd, which greatly resembles our traditional hand-melon. I have seen him train, and he sure has skills, but he’ll soon find out why the preferred epithet in all the epics about my deeds is The Mighty. If a brutal display of virility and strength is what Loki needs to make up his mind, that’s what he’s going to get._

_Closing now, attaching the requested instructions. I trust your judgement blindly so mostly I approve of your counsel. Do report urgently if fthe issue in Sessessek gets complicated._

_Thor_

 

_______________

 

_The King’s attendant to the housekeeper of Hrossbalkr Hall,_

 

_Please ensure to be fully stocked of the following items in preparation for the arrival of the royal party:_

 

_One medium sized gaming gourd_

_Sufficient blársteinn ointment for sixteen (costs to be covered by the King’s house upon arrival.)_

 

_Also:_

_Coal tincture*_

_Bál tincture*_

_Required ingredients for Bardagi* and Dolg* cataplasms (do not prepare in advance, must be fresh)_

_Járnleikr powders, one measure._

_Orrosta and Vettfang soothing hot oil mixtures*_

_*See attached formula. Respect proportions scrupulously. Oils must be cold pressed._

_Ten pounds of linen bandage rolls (clean, never used. Finest thread)_

_Suture needles (buck bone and fiskr. A dozen)_

_Gut thread for sewing (three rolls)_

_Splints (arms, legs, noses. A dozen each)_

_Sleepwater (Medicinal Liggja kind, but also Hofgi and extra-strong mulled wine*. Two barrels each.)_

 

_Sincerely at your service,_

_The King’s Attendant_

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: All the Viking-ish names have been purloined and then scrambled from this invaluable resource
> 
> http://www.vikingsofbjornstad.com/Old_Norse_Dictionary_E2N.shtm
> 
> They mean things like "White Water", "High Land", this kind of thing. The medicines' are all named with synonyms for "battle." And one or two, for sleeping, I don't remember rn. "Blársteinn," for example, means "blue stone." Anyway, that's the whole mystery. It really helps, though.
> 
>  
> 
> Anyway I'M SO FUCKING GLAD TO SEE THE BACK OF THIS FUCKING CHAPTER. I've been stuck on this crap for MONTHS. Tried my best, then tried the next best thing, then tried whatever I had, then tried throwing things at it. Then just... settled for this. Don't even know if it's okay or not. I stopped seeing it clearly months ago. I NEEDED TO GET IT BEHIND ME. 
> 
> I hope it wasn't too disappointing an update after such a long wait. I needed it for plot, but man, wasn't I close to just write "so they spend some more time traveling north and this happens and now on to the good stuff." THIS close.
> 
> I'm sliiiiiightly more excited about the next chapter. I hope it comes a lot, lot faster than this one. 
> 
> (I don't think it's horrible, I just had big plans for it. I thought there were good ideas there. That there was so much more to the letters, the dialogues, that Svad isn't there enough, that the rapport between Loki and Thor is lackluster... I thought I could have got so much more out of them. Except clearly I couldn't, because I haven't been able to, try as I might. *Deep sigh* Oh well, something is better than nothing, right?)
> 
> Anyway, that was Wonderwall, on now on to The Angry, Naked-in-The Mud Gourd Game.
> 
> (Also, Svad's land is famous for its hot spring baths. Just saying...)


	7. The Great Games

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They take the game of gourd seriously in this country... Svadilfari's and Thor's rivalry reaches its absolute peak. Loki fears a bloodbath. 
> 
> And there /is/ a bath in this chapter, but not that kind.
> 
> Well, Loki's been under a massive self-imposed draught. Full immersion is what he needed, a deluge, an actual fucking flood. ...You'll see what I mean.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and like more than half a year later, FINALLY, an update... 
> 
> I hope you haven't forgotten these kids. I haven't. 
> 
> I'd say this is a very self-indulgent chapter, but considering the fucking effort it took, I suppose I've earned it.
> 
> I need to dedicate this chapter and possibly all the updates for at LEAST the next 3 months to Medeia, who didn't so much buy me a coffee as an entire coffee machine. Bless you.

 

“Behold!” called Lord Svadilfari, gesturing broadly at the spectacle before their eyes. “The Hall of the Game of Gourd!”

It was not every day that one got to see the King of Asgard and Overlord of the Nine Realms speechless, but such a feat of engineering deserved no less. Tier after tier of seating had been carved into the black rock of an ancient crater. At the bottom, an oval court for the game, tenderly lined with living moss. There were two grand gates for the teams to make their entrance, enriched with intricate carvings and finished with glass prisms that broke the light into magical rainbows, evoking the northern lights. And within the walls of the crater, carved in the soft volcanic rock, were chambers and corridors connecting with the Manor nearby and the hot springs that ran deep below. The royal party contemplated the views from the royal box, vast enough to lodge dozens, the quality of the furnishings second to none in Jotunheim. 

“It’s been a good ten years of hard work, but now it’s finally complete,” announced Svadilfari, his satisfaction evident in the proud swell of his broad chest.

“They take their game of gourd seriously in this country,” muttered Fandral, which Balder promptly translated for all present. He did not quite convey the note of panic in Fandral’s voice, however.

“It’s Lord Svadilfari’s greatest passion since he was a little boy, is it not?” contributed Angrboda, shit-stirrer that she was. “That and his horses.”

“Well, you see, out here in the provinces we lack most of the distractions and delights of more thickly populated areas, such as the cities of the south,” said Svadilfari, sounding almost humble (although nobody was fooled for a moment.) “My lineage has always believed in athleticism as the most wholesome outlet for the overflowing energy of the young, who might otherwise find less savoury forms of entertainment -in the taverns, perhaps, or by causing mischief and headaches to their elders or somesuch. The game of gourd is indeed the most popular sport here; every hamlet and little town has its own team, playing each other in the country league, and there are about a dozen wooden constructions in the region to lodge the competitions, smaller, though by no means insignificant. However, the final games between the five best teams are always played here, and have been for a long time, and it’s a great occasion that brings many visitors from all over the Isles, and much trade. And so, it was my idea to appoint this place as befits our reverence for the game and the grand occasion it hosts. Ever since I took hold of my house, I planned and set underway the carving of the seats, which used to be constructed yearly in wood at great cost, and the walls that crown the crater, which protect the attendees from the frightful winds that often assail the area from the ocean, as well as enhance the beauty of the venue, and so constitute a fitting celebration of our values in this country. I also had the mountain carved out, connecting its many caves to access the hot springs that surge below. They are a pleasant addition for the relaxation of the players and our guests; many pilgrims also travel here, for it is believed that the sulphurous waters can heal many ailments. It’s a source of prosperity for this area, which might otherwise lag behind, for it has few other natural resources.

”We also hold our riding games here. I know Asgardians greatly appreciate horse sports too,” he was addressing Thor directly now. “Perhaps after the gourd, your Majesty would like to try your hand at those as well? I think your Majesty said it was the Jotun Elk that he had never encountered before. This could be your chance! If you are in any condition to  _ move _ after the game, that is.” Svad’s smarmy smirk was met with a hostile, seething glare that only made Svad’s expression more malicious. And he added, showing sharp, white teeth, “I should perhaps mention that I designed the Hall with a mind not only to the best views for the audience, but also to acoustics, to amplify and carry to the uppermost tier of seating every grunt, every whine, and every cry for mercy.”

“We shan’t go too hard on you then,” said Thor, returning the grin in the same belligerent spirit. “Surely you wouldn’t want your own countrymen and women to hear you beg.”

Svad laughed like he had just heard the funniest thing ever. 

“I didn’t miss the fun, did I?” said a voice behind their backs.

“Val!” exclaimed Svadilfari. 

They turned to see a small but muscular woman in leather riding clothes and the dark skin of the southern peoples of Yggdrasil. Lord Svadilfari embraced her and patted her back forcefully, and the woman responded in kind. 

“What an unexpected pleasure!” said Svad. “I thought we wouldn’t see you until the first snowfall later in the year! My king, my lord, dear guests, meet Val of the Northern Pastures.”

“The Northern Pastures?” repeated Thor, skeptical. “Is that truly whence you hail?”

“I hail from nowhere and everywhere,” said the woman enigmatically.

“Val is a wanderer,” explained Lord Svadilfari. “Extremely talented at taming riding beasts, and so of course her roaming would end up leading her here, where her skills would be truly appreciated. Although at this time of the year one can usually hear of her in the northern pastures, where she captures and herds the great elks we will need in the winter, which we release after the colds and catch again in time for the next high snows. You’re early, my friend!”

Val smirked in a way that could have made her Svadilfari’s sister.

“When I heard that the very King of Asgard in the flesh was in this lands for a game of gourd, I told myself that I couldn’t miss it. It’s the opportunity of a lifetime to take his measure. Where be the snooty brat?”

“The snooty brat be right here,” said Thor, silken and dangerous, and with a squint in his eye. “Your accent… You are of Asgard!” he declared.

Val did not think such a statement merited an answer. But Thor wasn’t done yet. His squinting continued. She found her familiar in more ways than just her manner of pronouncing Jotun words.

“By Ymir’s cow, you’re one of the Valkyrjur!” he said.

Again, the newcomer didn’t find the need to reply, but the way she held herself was not as relaxed as one minute ago.

“Lady Valkyrja” saluted Thor, with a bow.

“Val is good,” she interrupted.

“Do you have a name?”

“Indeed I have. Only for my friends.”

“Were you cast out in disgrace?” asked Fandral.

“I left.”  
“How come?”

“My reasons are my own.”

Helblindi nudged Balder’s side to call his attention.

“Excuse me, what is a Valkyrja?” he asked.

“The Valkyrjur are the loyal guard of Asgard, a small elite group of warriors selected and trained since childhood, to which Asgard entrusts the safety of treasure, envoys, messengers, ambassadors, the King’s person, and whatever they deem priceless. Terrible and dreaded, their name is whispered in awe throughout the Nine Realms. And the guard is composed entirely of girls and women.”

“How come?” asked Loki.

“Boys are too much work, and too many headaches” said Val. “In childhood they’re unruly and struggle to focus. In teenage years and thereon, they are interested mostly in bragging and outdoing their peers. In missions composed most entirely of men, useless selfish feats of heroism often take precedence over accomplishing the task. Girls and women work well together, and while they may compete for primacy, they are more willing to cooperate for the common good and shared goals.”

“Indeed,” nodded Thor, “all that is true.  You can send the Valkyrjur anywhere, but a troop of men? You need a cast iron hierarchy to oversee them all, which gets in the way of initiative and individual thinking; they weaken the group. There are no such difficulties with a band of women. My father used to say we would take only women to war if we could, were it not for the numbers.”

“Perhaps we should consider such an endeavour ourselves,” said Lord Svadilfari.

“I would rather not engage in any wars at all, if possible,” said Loki. “There aren’t that many Jotnar that we can spare them in battle. Not having a standing army should help. Let Asgard protect us. It’s why we sign our treaties.”

“Asgard will indeed always protect the fair land of Jotunheim, its crown, and its king,” bowed Thor.

Loki bowed in return, stiffly though.

“So, Val, are you playing?” cut Svad.

“How could I miss the chance to play against the King of Asgard!” she declared.

“May I beg you play for my side instead?” asked Thor. “You see, my best player has already lined up with my rival. Should you play for us, it would much level our chances.”

“And your best player is...?” asked Val.

“The Lady Sif,” said Thor, stepping aside that Val could salute her.

Only no salutation took place, for the two women locked eyes and speech abandoned their lips, and seemingly their minds, for a long, electrified moment.

“ Excuse me,” interrupted Svad. “I must go and compose the Häkä. We won’t have time to rehearse otherwise.”

“What the hell was that he said?” asked Thor.

“The Häkä?” said Angrboda helpfully. “It’s a battle rally in verse in the ancient Jotun dialect, which is chanted before the game. To challenge and rattle your opponents, and intimidate them if possible.”

“Right. Should I make one of these myself?”

“Or perhaps instead your Majesty should reconsider altogether his idea of actually taking part in this slaughter,” cut in Loki, gritting the words between his teeth.

Those constant displays of manly bravado had a terrible effect on him. One the one hand, they were terribly irritating. On the other hand… Why, oh why must his cool, distinguished mind be lodged in such a wanton container? Why could his body not give him a goddamn break? All those hot flushes and those cold sweats, all those palpitations and those tumbles in his stomach, and the Norns-damned  _ thirst _ that wouldn’t let him live? He was like a cat in heat! It was humiliating, and bloody unbearable! He was so fucking horny all the time, by the accursed snake that consumes the twisted roots of Yggdrasil!

“Like hell I will!” exclaimed Thor. “I have never turned my back on a challenge before and I don’t intend on starting now.”

“Perhaps your majesty should listen to his majesty,” suggested Fandral, shifty-eyed, intimidated by the size of the stadium, as if a boisterous crowd of blood-thirsty Jotnar was already filling the tiers of seating to watch the Asgardians get creamed. 

“Absolutely  _ not _ ,” declared Thor. “Since when do you allow a pile of rocks to strike fear into your heart, old friend? We have taken more forbidding fortresses with fewer qualms than you’re showing now.”

“But we were wearing more than a coat of blue paint and a loincloth in the assault,” objected Fandral.

“Oh, this reminds me,” said Thor. “We must undergo some preparations before we can begin, do we not? I hear this blue ointment has a very interesting warming effect. I can’t wait to find out how it feels. Let us go.” A sharp nod to Loki, eyes fierce and daring. “Your majesty.”

“Allow me, Lady Sif,” said Val, offering her arm. Val seemed to have regained her words, and they were now flowing smoothly and warmly with the tiniest smile and the twinkliest of stares. “Such beautiful hair. I would hate for it to be damaged in the game. You see, in war, Jotun warriors shave their heads and beards and paint themselves blue. For the game of gourd, nobody expects the players to shave, for they are vain, but those who are mindful of traditions will braid it close to the skull, and then smother it in  _ blársteinn _ , that it offers no grip to the rivals. The vainest of them all leave it loose, which is fetching, but all too easy for their rivals to grip. I can show you how to braid back your hair in such a manner that it is both attractive and convenient to our purpose, if you allow me.”

“I would be most grateful,” said Sif, with a most becoming fluster rising to her cheeks.

Fandral was trying to follow them close.  
“Could you also teach me how to…?” he tried.

“Do your own,” cut Val sharply.

Sif and Val walked on, lost in each other’s eyes. The rest followed.

And Loki sighed. 

 

“It’s really very impressive,” mused Angrboda a moment later, pacing the patch of soft moss underfoot, looking up and all around her, where so much craftsmanship and skill had been employed. “The man is an extremely accomplished architect and builder. We should get more visitors from abroad to admire this grand achievement. It shows how advanced and refined Jotunheim can be, even in the provinces. Don’t you agree, your majesty?”

Loki hadn’t heard a word she had said.

“Are you alright, brother?” muttered Helblindi discreetly.

“They’re going to tear each other to ribbons in front of my very eyes,” said Loki, with a haunted stare. “And there is nothing I can do to stop them. What is the point of kingship, tell me, if I can’t even bloody prevent a public disembowelment amid the cries of a cheering crowd, especially when this is all over  _ me _ ?”

“Don’t be presumptuous, Loki,” said Byleistr, bored now that Baldr wasn’t here. “At this point I think it’s more a matter of proving whose virility will prevail, in general terms. Otherwise, should you beg them, they would heed you. I’d say it’s not so much about impressing  _ you _ , as impressing on their rival and the world who has the biggest…”

“...By!” gasped Helblindi.

“…Prowess in physical combat?” finished By, with a coy grin.

“That’s not even grammatically sound,” said Hel.

“Shut up, both of you!” snapped Loki. “By the udders of Ymir’s cow, don’t you see what’s going to happen here??”

“A game of gourd,” shrugged Byleistr. “A broken nose or two.”

Loki fixed her with a murderous squint, then Angrboda.

“You,  _ and _ you, I blame you both for riling them up and fueling up this bloody nonsense,” he pointed, his hand shaking. “Whatever happens today in this court, it’s on your shoulders. Beware!”

He attempted a grandiose exit, taking long, brisk strides, but he couldn’t help but hear By saying “Tisch! What does that even mean?” and that killed the mood a little.

 

***  
  


“The  _ blársteinn _ quite brings out the sculptural lines of your anatomy, my Lord,” purred Angrboda, who had been looking on intently as the priestesses applied it over Thor’s brawny body. They had left his hair clean of the blue ointment and loose, with only some braiding to keep it out of Thor’s face, all at Angrboda’s suggestion and under her instructions. That golden mane was a striking vision over the deep blue skin, almost as if the sun was shining over a midnight ocean.

Thor was trying to appraise himself, turning his head this way and that to catch a glimpse of his body.

“You can see your own image in that pane of polished silver,” suggested Angrboda, which caused Thor to turn around and expose his back to her. Angrboda had to look away for a moment, take a deep breath, and exhale it softly and with great control, for her natural impulse before such a display of top-quality man flesh would have been to swoon. 

“These decorative lines,” commented Thor, following the tracings over his body. “What do they mean?”

“They’re the markings of the King’s House,” said Angrboda, “since you’re Loki’s guest. The royal guard would wear them into battle, or a royal champion in a joust.”

“A royal champion, eh?” chuckled Thor, turning this way and that.

And oh how his muscles rippled and bulged with every movement. Angrboda had guessed it would be a feast for the eyes, but this wasn’t just a feast, it was a glut, a binge, a twenty-course banquet! And that skimpy loincloth, straining dangerously in an attempt to hold in that magnificent bulge! What a specimen! No wonder Loki hadn’t thought of anything else since he returned from his trip to Asgard!

The rest of the Asgardians arrived at this point, also covered in  _ blársteinn _ .

“It feels ever so weird,” Fandral was saying, touching the ointment on his skin. In a few hours it would become dry and start to crust and crack, but for now it had formed a flexible casing that felt as warm as the heat of the flames in the hearth, and produced interesting tingles in those nooks and crannies of the body that were usually the warmest.

“It’s like being wrapped head to toe in a steamy cloth,” said Sif. She didn’t wear one more stitch than her male counterparts, and the  _ blársteinn _ was no less fetching on her slim, athletic body than it was on her voluptuous king. 

“I see now why they were forced to make economies with me,” said Fandral (although he was as thoroughly covered as the rest), gesturing at Volstagg. “They needed all they could spare for that wine barrel you call a stomach!”

“Isn’t he funny,” deadpanned Volstagg, untroubled by the taunting. Then he pointed at Thor. “What are those lines all over your body?”

“The lines of the King’s House!” said Thor smugly, doing a full turn for all to appreciate. “Royal markings for a royal champion. I can’t wait for Lord Svadilfucker to get an eyeful of this!”

  
  


***

 

The royal box was huge, of a sweeping magnificence designed to be no less than the palaces up north, only in rich, polished obsidian and other permutations of volcanic rock, and encrusted with crystals rather than carved ice and compacted snow. It could lodge a sizeable entourage, but Loki had had the nobles from the caravan disperse through the tiers, among the Jotnar that had converged here from every corner of the county and beyond for this extraordinary game, as well as all those who traveled with the caravan, of every station and occupation. Some nobles were offended, but others found it amusing to mix up with the rabble like that; and some much preferred it, for they were passionate about the game as well, and the decorum required in the royal box would have clashed with their urges to let out their emotions with the exuberance their hearts demanded. Plus, they wanted to be closer to the players, and were happy to sacrifice the global view in exchange for proximity to the action. For the full experience, it was a bonus if you got muddy and/or sprayed with blood. 

Among such enthusiasts was the king’s sister Byleistr herself. Her presence amid the populace made it more palatable for those who felt slighted for having been kept out of the royal box. Some said the King had given his sister the instruction precisely to ease the blow to those aristocrats’ pride, but in truth today Loki didn’t give a damn about any of that protocol malarkey. He wanted to be alone in the royal box, under the shadow of the draped awning, hopefully concealed from view. The king ought to show impeccable behavior, of course, and Loki didn’t trust himself with his emotions or his outward reactions during this game. For one, he couldn’t stop biting his nails. How very unkingly of him. For another, he was shaking. He couldn’t master his facial expressions for the life of him. He was perfectly aware that he looked completely on edge and about to suffer a full-blown fit of nerves.

One the east-west axis of the court, left and right of the royal box, at ground level, two grand, ornate arches, one for each team to make an adequately impressive entrance. Seven players on each team—Thor heading the reds, Svadilfari (also with clean, flowing hair) leading the yellows. Because nobody wanted a civil war to break out, Asgardians and Jotnar had mixed up in the two teams. The Lady Sif and Lord Hogun stood in Svadilfari’s ranks, and Fandral and Volstagg flanked their king. Also in Thor’s line-up, Val the wandering Asgardian. She had come to stand before the Lady Sif, and now the two women were appraising each other in a way suggestive of a mood that was missing only a touch of candlelight, and several hundred fewer people.

The teams stood in the correct formation, while the priestess who would referee officiated the initial ceremony.

“Let this game please the Fate-Weavers and let it be done as they decree! May those whom Fortune favours on this day please the Norns and perform their bidding! May you who meet today in this field do honour to yourselves, your house, and your ancestors, and may your deeds remind this world of the iron and bronze of the Golden Age!” So on so forth. It went on for a bit.

Though the two team leaders were holding themselves with dignity and correction, the fire in their eyes was not sportsmanlike in the least. Against his every instinct seeing what had happened last time, Loki was seriously considering asking for some wine.

“They’re going to kill each other,” he said in a shaky murmur.

“They’re sensible men at heart,” said Helblindi, who had thoughtfully and discreetly sat himself a couple of rows behind Loki in the royal box, for support. “It will be alright,” he reassured him.

Loki threw him a skeptical, moody glance.

“Aren’t you a little bit flattered at least?” ventured Hel. 

“That I allegedly made them sink to these levels of animal savagery, you mean?” he snarked.

“Well, yes,” said Hel.

Loki had a thought about that, and had to admit that he did feel  _ something _ , but he wouldn’t say he was flattered. There was a lot of blue-painted meat rippling in that field. They were both fucking  _ beautiful _ , Nornsdammit, and  _ massive _ , and their wild manes of hair flew in the wind, and their loincloths were straining, and… damn, one would have to be dead not to, uh, experience  _ things _ . And Loki had had twenty months already to stew in the memories of what the glorious body at his right could  _ do _ , and had had ample time in the last few weeks to imagine what the one on his left might be capable of. Yeah, he was feeling inappropriate things in the dawn of impending doom and potential war with an offended Asgardian nation, alright, but flattered wasn’t one of them.

The fanfares were sounded that announced the start of the game, and Loki went back to ravage his nails. When the nail on the index finger of his right hand was but a stump, he carried on with his left.

 

 

***

 

Svad and Thor were four good steps apart, but even that felt too close. The heat of their mutual hostility radiated all the way to the lowest tiers of excited viewers.

The priestess had finished her opening prayer, and now she gestured to the team leaders and gave them a sharp nod.

Svad grunted, and his team formed a line beside him. To the tune of an aggressive chant, a string of words which sounded like Jotun, but a dialect Thor had never heard before, they performed a strange dance. The Asgardian King beheld the display in complete bafflement. He could only make out a word out of ten, but there was a lot of chest beating, and crouching, and thigh slapping, and sharp groin thrusting, and feet stomping going on, as well as vigorously pointing to the skies and the grounds, while sticking their tongues out, showing bare teeth, and pulling other remarkable grimaces. There were a couple of instances featuring the universal gesture for chopping heads off, and then chopping other lower things off too. And it ended in an almighty “HAH!” that resonated throughout the Hall. The audience went into a rapture of cheers and enthusiasm.

“What the hell was that?” muttered Thor to Val, beside him. 

“The Häkä,” said Val. “It’s in the ancient dialect, only used for poetry and such.”

“Right.”

Svad then addressed the crowds.

“He says that for the benefit of the Asgardian guests, he’ll translate now,” mumbled Val.

“I got that,” mumbled Thor between his teeth.

“If I may,” said Svad above the noise and bustle of the crowd, now with an unctuous voice, a parody of the obsequious, poisoned exchanges of a royal court. While with his hands he echoed some of the gestures that had accompanied his song, only now in a slower, less aggressive, more graceful manner, he declaimed conversationally, “The Häkä I composed for this day, in honour of our distinguished guests. It said,  _ ‘Under the heavens and over the land of ice, we summon our ancestors to give us strength, may we do them honour. We greet you here in our home, oh strong and worthy rivals. Hear our oath. On this land we show no mercy, on this land we are supreme, and on this land we shall prevail; below our feet you shall be trampled, and our ears shall hear no pleading and no begging; your limbs will be pulled out of their sockets one by one, your tongues ripped out of your mouths with our bare teeth, your ears torn from your heads, and your noses sunk in your face, and before we cut off your necks, we’ll chop off your balls, and make merry all night eating a stew cooked with the spoils. Yield now, or suffer.’ _ ” Svad smiled with fake humility. “Such a pity the rhyme and the metrics are lost in the translation, they really gave the words their true punch.”

On Thor’s side, a moment of stunned silence. Fandral wouldn’t have needed any  _ blársteinn _ to look blue at this moment. He elbowed his lord. 

“Thor,” he mumbled.

Thor nudged him back.

“Shut up.”

Fandral nudged him more urgently.

“No, we shall not yield, I said!” exclaimed Thor.

“Norns help us,” whined Fandral.

“Does the visiting team wish to have us hear their battle rally now?” offered Svad politely.

“Yes, Nornsdammit!” proclaimed Thor, stepping forward. “I am the Mighty Thor, son of a House of Gods, Favourite of Fortune and Beloved of the Fates! I am the King of Asgard and the Overlord of the Nine Realms,  conqueror of the Dark Elves, destroyer of the Tyrant of Ur, vanquisher of the Thief Nation of the Eastern Roads, hero of the battle of New York , and if any of you so much as  _ blows _ into my ear, if you should even  _ think _ of getting near my nose, I shall gut you all and use your plaited intestines as bridles for my horse, is that clear?”

Svad’s cocky smirk continued to be most aggravating.

“Seems like your majesty is mostly concerned about his pretty face?”

“Your Lordship thinks I’m pretty?” jabbed Thor.

“You may still yield, you know,” said Svad. “There is no dishonour in acknowledging when one is overcome.”

“I’ll fucking show you overcome,” grumbled Thor beneath his breath.

“May the best man win,” sneered Svad.

“Ehem,” said Valkyrie and Sif at the same time. And they looked at each other and smiled, and Valkyrie winked, and were she not covered head to toe in blue, Sif would have been mortified, for she had blushed a little.

The priestess had taken a few steps back and was holding a yellow gourd. It was fresh. It would be heavy and hard. 

“Form!” she called.

The teams aligned and adopted a semi-crouching position, ready to charge.

“Begin!”

The gourd flew in the air. Five pairs of bodies clashed brutally while it was still flying, and it fell over an unholy scramble of men and women determined to stop at nothing to get on top of each other and reach the gourd.

In the royal box, the king covered his face and muttered a prayer.

 

An untrained eye would hardly guess it, but this was actually a cerebral game of strategy. There were battle lines, tactical retreats, cunning schemes and ploys, and ambushes to mislead and entrap the rivals. Seen from a sufficient distance, one would even call it elegant, how the players fell into position, scattered, and formed again.

And then, of course, there was also the wrestling, pushing, punching, elbowing, kicking, biting, yanking, tripping, scratching, and abundant close-quarters shit-talking. It was all expected and part of the game, and if a couple of ears did indeed come partially or entirely unattached from their heads, or some noses come out of the game a different shape they had gone in, well, there were medics on the sidelines with needle and thread and some cloth for quick bandages, and no hard feelings. 

But there was supposed to be a balance between the two, the brutal full-body scuffle and the cunning tactics. The one was meant to stop the progress of your rival, the other to attempt to break through their lines and score. And so, today there was a lot of confused hair-scratching among the audience, for the team leaders had lunged at each other from the first moment, taking over all of the muddy wrestling, while the rest of the team stood by and watched, without much interest in the tactical part of the game. They were fascinated instead by the thrilling spectacle of Svad and Thor trying to kill each other with their bare hands, arms, legs, thighs, teeth, and pretty much anything they could throw at each other.

Their sweaty bodies were streaked with wet mud, and their loincloths had already proven shockingly inadequate for use in such an impetuous brawl. Right at this moment, Svad had Thor pressed beneath his body, preventing him from pushing up with his feet by crushing with his entire weight between Thor’s spread thighs. Thor had tangled his ankles with Svad’s, and was using all the might of his arms and his hips to try and dislodge him. Their grunts of effort resonated throughout the bowl of the Hall - the acoustics of this place were indeed phenomenal. Meanwhile, the king in his box seemed to have broken into a fever. He was pale, sweating, and shaking. 

“Hnnnnngggg you lying snake!” grunted Svad, after Thor had managed to roll them over. The Jotun was now pressed face down in the mud, with Thor King’s weight flat all over him, his wrists held tight in the king’s hands, their legs locked together as in a hook-and-eye closure. “Walking in and out of his life as if he was your petty servant! How  _ dare _ you!” 

“HMMPH!” Thor folded from an elbow to his gut, and found himself again pinned beneath Svadilfari, who had sat on his chest and was imprisoning Thor’s head between his thighs. “You know nothing!” grunted Thor in turn, throwing punches to Svad’s back, not hard enough, for his shoulders were held down firmly under Svadilfari’s weight. 

His effort to get free forced Svad to spin around so that he could trap Thor’s arms between his folded legs, and Thor’s legs between his curled-up arms. Pressing the side of Thor’s face into the mud with his ass was just an inspired last touch. But soon, a vicious bite, a formidable effort, and Thor managed to get free, just long enough to throw Svad off and onto the muddy ground. He scrambled to get on top of him and then Thor was the one holding his opponent’s head between his thighs. 

“I’m a lying snake?” he replied, panting with his efforts. “You’re a thieving  _ rat _ ! He doesn’t even want you! You’re just a consolation prize! Eat  _ MUD _ !”

Svad rolled in the circle of Thor’s thighs and pushed with his legs, and now Thor’s ankles were uselessly clutching around his neck, Svad’s weight folding him in half. Thor tried to shove him off, and Svad pushed even harder. There was a lot of grunting and huffing. Thor struggled and managed to release one leg, which ended up wrapped around Svad’s waist. 

“The king has fainted!” called someone. 

“No I fucking haven’t!” came another voice.

“Look at her go!” called someone else.

The Lady Sif had had enough, and had got hold of the gourd. With Val close at her tail, she was running like a dart for the goal. Val was catching up, but Sif was only a few strides away. The clamour of the audience, suddenly excited about the game again, rose and rose. Cheers and cries filled the Hall.

“You rotten filthy…” Thor was saying. He had Svad’s head between his thighs, and Svad had his own head trapped firmly between his. They were both throwing punches blindly, trying to scratch and bite. 

Their loincloths, by the way, were completely displaced now. 

“Somebody get the king some salts!”

“Shut up, Hel!”

“Goal!” rose the cry. “Goooaaaaaal!”

In his fleshy headlock, Thor tried to see what was going on. He only got to see the last of it, when Sif in the distance jumped over the goal line with the gourd in her hands, and managed to touch down before Val grabbed hold of her ankles. They both rolled together in the mud, panting and laughing.

“The goal stands!” said the priestess.

“The fucking game is over!” called the king from his box. And in a lower voice. “Get these fucking salts off my face, Hel!”

In their puddle of mud, tangled in each other, Svad and Thor had stopped struggling. Thor had a set of man’s soft fleshy bits escaped from a loincloth pressed against his cheek, and his own had ended up squashed under Svad’s chin somehow. 

“Uh,” Thor said, “I think we lost.”

Down there between Thor’s thighs, Svad frowned and craned his head to try and see. 

“Well, fuck,” he said. 

All of a sudden, they both felt incommensurably stupid.

They disentangled awkwardly and sat up, a bit dizzy from having been doing all they could to cut the flow of oxygen to each other’s brains for the best part of… how long had it been? Rubbing his forehead heavily (what a headache), Thor rearranged his loincloth, and tucked himself in. Decorum. 

Svad shook his head vigorously once or twice, as if to clear it up. What had been some majestic brown locks were now ropes of mud splatting over his face. It was ridiculous.

He saw then how Svad was looking at him, and touched his own hair. Oh Norns. 

It really only took the first quiver in Svad’s lips to turn Thor’s grimace into a full grin, and it only took one snort from him to cause a full chuckle in Svad. And before they knew it, they were both folded over, holding their stomachs, laughing.

“By the Serpent of the world…” chuckled Svad when he calmed down a bit, wiping his eye, and he extended a hand to Thor, who took it without a thought. 

They helped each other to their feet. When they were standing, they got a good look at themselves and their opponent in all their muddy, disastrous glory. They caught each other’s eye, and they burst into hysterics again.

“Is this how you play gourd in Asgard?“ Svad was saying between chuckles, as they walked out of the field, arm around his rival’s shoulders.

“I was just going to ask the same thing, sire!” laughed Thor. “Is that why you built yourself an entire Hall for?”

They were patting each other’s backs and laughing and laughing and laughing.

“Gods, I’m exhausted,” said Thor, wiping a tear. “And this mud really does get  _ everywhere _ , by the Holy Udders!”

“Come into the baths, my Lord,” said Svad. “Finest as any you’ve ever seen, I promise.”

“Designed them yourself, did you?”

“Of course.”

“Then I don’t need any promises.” A fine backslap, then they made their way into the mountain.

 

 

***

 

Loki had abandoned the royal box in a hurry through the underground passages, hoping to give every living soul a miss. Helblindi, of course, he could not shake. They found themselves in a chamber appointed as a drawing room, Loki wheezing, tugging like a maniac at the neck of his leather outfit, struggling to breathe. Mostly he was furious, he thought. About what precisely, he would rather not think much into that.

“Are you well, brother?” asked Helblindi in that doting auntie tone of his that tended to rile Loki up even more when he was in such a mood.

“Do I look well to you?!” he snapped. And regretted it immediately. Screaming at Helblindi felt like kicking a puppy for clinging to your heels. “Apologies,” he said.

“A drink?” offered his brother. 

It was an innocent glass of water. Loki considered dousing himself over the head with it. He just drank it down.

“Better?”

“Help me with this, will you?” he turned his back and Hel deftly undid the top laces of his neck. Loki breathed in deep.

“Why don’t you go for a bath?” said Helblindi softly. “I hear they are a delight. Hot springs, cold springs, bubbly springs… I’ll make sure you’re left alone. Nobody will disturb you.”

Loki exhaled. He did feel overheated, sweaty, and disgusting. Not to mention overheated. And did he mention overheated?

“Yes, I think I shall,” he said. 

Helblindi nodded with a luminous smile of pure pleasure, for he liked above all to be useful to his brother, and went to fetch someone who could lead them to the baths.

 

***

 

Ah, that was  _ so _ much better. Loki was neck deep in bubbly hot water. The tub had a sulphurous waft which was tempered with the addition of oils and herbs. The end result was rather overpowering, though not unpleasant. It took a moment to get used to. It certainly flooded the senses. He had tried the cold pool, then the hot pool, and he liked this one best, in spite of the smell. With his eyes closed, his head tilted back leaning on the rock ledge, he enjoyed the weightlessness and the rare peace and quiet that a dutiful king only seldom finds.

But just then, from the adjoining cavern (the hot pool, with thick clouds of steam bleeding into his) came some chuckles and muffled words. Who had dared disobey his orders? He said he wanted peace, by the Norns! He was already reaching for the bell that would call in an attendant, whom Loki would command to evict the trespassers in the other cave. 

But then he, uh. The noises turned… Well. He went very still, and listened.

“Hm. Hmmmm… Ah. Ahhhh… Oh Norns. Oh.”

“Is that good, your majesty?”

“Hmmm… So good. Keep going…” 

A few manly grunts, the sound of wet slapping, flesh-on-flesh. Loki gulped, feeling an annoying prickle extend under his skin, from his head down to his toes, but mostly focused on, uh.

“Aaaaah, fuck. You’re good at this, my Lord.”

“So they tell me.”

Slap slap slap. Smack!

“Hmmmm… Ah. Oomph. Right there. Can you feel it?”

“Yes, sire. It’s very hard.”

“What did you expect… Oh yes, don’t stop...  Keep going, right there… Hmmmph…” Moan. Grunt. Deep moan. “Yes… yes… So good. So good. You have hands of gold, hmmm...”

What the  _ fuck _ .

Of course by then every inch of Loki’s skin was covered in goose-bumps, his pulse was racing, his breathing had become remarkably shallow, and he had only the warm bubbly waters to thank for concealing a pretty colossal hard-on.

Also, incidentally, he was  _ furious _ .

_ Your Majesty. My Lord _ . All that chuckling and laughing and backpatting at the end of the game. And now  _ this _ ?? Hel no, he had had quite enough of… whatever it was. He wasn’t in any state to put too fine a point on it.

He emerged from the pool dramatically, dripping water everywhere, draped the towel around his hips with enough folds that he could hopefully disguise his, um, condition, and stepped purposely into the adjoining cave, ready to murder someone.

“How bloody dare…!” 

He cut himself short. Thor was sitting on a stool, with a towel around his waist and hips, and Svadilfari was behind him, massaging his shoulders. They both turned with wide open eyes at the sudden intrusion. They hadn’t been expecting anyone.

“My King!” saluted Svad jovially, with a broad smile, his hands still kneading Thor’s shoulders, which were now clean of blue ointment and glistened instead with oil. “I never knew you were here! Have you been enjoying the baths?”

Loki was gaping hopelessly, like a fish out of water. At least the shock had made his  _ situation _ calm down a little.

“I- thought you were somebody else,” he lied. “I asked for the baths to be cleared.”  
“Oh, I see. I understand, people can be such a nuisance. I apologise, but nobody told me,” explained Svad. “I have my own entrance, you see.”

“We won’t be a nuisance,” purred Thor, throwing his head back in bliss, eyes closed, given away to Svad’s ministrations. 

“Well, your majesty can be rather noisy,” teased Svadilfari, concentrating now on the crook of Thor’s neck.

“I blame your devilish magic fingers…” sighed Thor. And soon he was groaning. “Oh, don’t stop sire, don’t you dare stop…”

“Do not be greedy, Thor King,” Svad chuckled, wiping his hands. “There is such a thing as too much of a good thing. Let the water do the rest.”  
Thor huffed like the spoilt brat he was, but obeyed. He dragged himself upright and dropped the towel. Loki had turned his gaze away at the last second when he realised what Thor was going to do, and didn’t look again until out of the corner of his eye he perceived that Thor was fully under water. But when he looked front again, he couldn’t help but sneak a peek of that golden face, and he found those deep blue eyes fixed on him. He felt a deep shiver run down his spine.

“Hmmmph…” Thor exhaled deep, grunting in pleasure. “This is absolutely lovely, my Lord.”

“It is, isn’t it?” said Svad.

And before Loki could look away this time, Svad dropped his own towel. The blush rising to Loki’s cheeks had nothing to do with the steamy water this time. Oh my, another  _ horselord _ indeed…

As Svad slipped into the water, Loki saw Thor’s eyes brazenly taking in the Jotun lord’s impressive form. On the one hand, it made Loki seethe. That stare was  _ not _ decent. On the other hand… Gulps, that stare was  _ indecent _ .

“Will your majesty not join us?” asked Thor in a low purr.

Loki gulped.

“I’m afraid this pool is too hot for me,” he said, trying to sound haughty and resolute, and sounding like a puffed up kitten instead. “Too much heat makes me weak and faint. I dislike it.”

“Does it now,” said Svad, also dropping his voice and shuffling his words as the water softened his muscles, pinning Loki down with his dark, piercing eyes. “What a shame. After such a long and uncomfortable journey, I was hoping my baths would soothe every pain and every sore joint, and prepare your majesty to fully experience all the pleasures my house can afford.”

“I was fine in my own pool, where the waters are more temperate. If you excuse me, milords.” Loki turned to go.

“Truly a temperate man, our king,” mused Svadilfari. “Measure in all things. The marking of a wise man.”

“I am most unwise then, for I do so enjoy excesses,” mused Thor in turn. “And so does Loki King, I know.”

Loki stopped in his tracks.

“Even wise men can act foolishly sometimes,” said Loki over his shoulder. “That’s how they learn temperance, by experiencing the consequences of their excesses. Thus they’ll know to avoid them in the future, and regret those in the past.”

“I don’t believe in regret. And I don’t believe in half-measures,” declared Thor. And then he turned towards Lord Svadilfari, and changed his tone and the subject. “You know what, my friend,” mumbled Thor in his deepest timbre, “it’s just come to mind, you’ve been so very kind and doting towards me, and I haven’t reciprocated as I should.” He was addressing Svad, but he was looking at Loki. “Where’s that fragrant oil you’ve used on me?”

“Over here,” said Svad, with his voice of bronze. 

The two men seem to understand each other with a look. Lord Svadilfari braced himself on the edge, planted his feet wide to keep balance, thus offering Thor his back. Thor poured some oil on his palms, rubbed them together, and applied himself to Svadilfari’s shoulders. Svad drew a deep breath, and a loud sigh, finished in a groan.

“Hmmmmph… Oh yes,” sighed Svadilfari. “You have a healer’s touch, your majesty.” He opened his eyes just a crack to throw a look at an ever more furious Loki. “There is a belief among our people… (Oh,  _ Norns _ , yes) that a King’s hands have the power to heal…” 

Thor chuckled darkly, as his fingers pressed into a knot between Svad’s shoulder blades. 

“Does that belief apply to the kings of Asgard, your majesty?” Thor asked Loki.

“Hardly,” Loki spat. “Since I’ve had a permanent pain in my neck since I had the misfortune of crossing paths with your majesty.”

Thor took it with an untroubled smile. His hands kept kneading Svadilfari’s muscles. Loki was trying to not look so intently, but there was an irresistible force in the sight of Thor’s big, gentle hands on the glorious muscles of Lord Svadilfari’s back and shoulders, Thor’s own arms bulging when he applied his strength, Svadilfari squirming half in pleasure half in pain under that touch.

“The King of Jotunheim doesn’t love me well,” murmured Thor to Svadilfari, as if sharing a confession. 

“Is that so,” purred Svadilfari, his eyes closed, breathing deep.

“He thinks me a rascal and a cad. He believes I wish to take advantage of him. That my heart isn’t true, nor my intentions. And he refuses my love and my embrace, and all that I would give him.”

“That’s a shame,” said Svadilfari thoughtfully. He took yet another deep breath when Thor was working from his scalp to his neck. Goosebumps raised on his skin. “Hmmmm…” he sighed in delight. “Can I tell you a secret, sire?” he said a moment later, very softly. “The King of Jotunheim doesn’t love me either.”

“Oh, that’s awful,” said Thor theatrically.

“I have yearned for him for a long time,” said Svad, eyeing Loki out of the corner of his eye. “I would give him my heart and soul and body and everything I am. But he has already committed his affections to another.”  
“How tragic,” said Thor, rubbing, kneading, eyeing Loki slyly.  
“Indeed,” agreed Svad, throwing his head back now, Thor’s hands coming to the crook of his neck, sinews and muscles outrageously beautiful when his throat tensed.

“So, he won’t love you, and he won’t love me,” mumbled Thor. “How lonely for the poor King of Jotunheim.”

“He must be well-served by his own company,” ventured Svad.

“You think so?” said Thor. “I think he’s just stubborn.” He kept his attention on Svad’s spine. His fingers traced playfully up and down the ridge of his back. They started to reach below the water, and his hands delayed there, occupied in god knows  _ what _ that was making Svad arch his back and grunt. “And I think he’s afraid,” added Thor, his front now very close to Lord Svadilfari’s back. “He’s afraid to give himself. He’s afraid of what he’s capable of feeling. He’s only just uncorked that bottle, and then rushed to seal it up again, and put it away somewhere cold and dark, so he can forget that he is a man and has wants and needs. He thinks he can go through life on watery porridge, and forgo honey and milk.”

Svad was turning his dark, warm eyes on Loki, longing and intense.

“Some men are frugal like that, but not the King,” insisted Thor. “Once, perhaps, before he knew what he was missing. But now? Once you feel the fire, you’ll always want to burn again. It is not human to pretend one is made of ice.”

“It seems my lords give this subject of the Jotun king’s needs and wants a lot of thought,” gritted Loki, who was still very much standing right  _ there, _ incidentally. “Don’t you have better things to occupy your minds?”

“I wish that it was just my mind that was occupied by your majesty’s wants and needs, for that is easily distracted with other matters. But the heart… And the flesh…” He cast a sultry look towards sweating, panting, seriously-in-danger-of-falling-on-his-back-unconscious Loki. “Speaking of distractions,” mused Thor to Svadilfari, as his hands started to descend again down the Jotun lord’s tattooed back. “I hear, sir, that it is a tradition in this country for those defeated in the game of gourd to  _ serve _ their vanquishers for the day.”

Svad chuckled darkly. The bubbling water had swallowed Thor’s hands. God knows where they were now, but Svad’s eyes were becoming heavy, and his half-smile was turning… indolent. 

“At the table, your majesty,” purred Svad, eyes closed, dreamy. “They serve them at the  _ table _ .”

“Have you got a table nearby?” murmured Thor, and his hands had not emerged over water now for a while, and Svad’s eyes, when he did open them, were glazed.

Loki gulped, a  _ pressing _ situation underneath his towel becoming a  _ most pushing _ one, and soon one that neither towels nor steam would be able to conceal.

“I have heard of a tradition from  _ your _ country too,” said Svad, his voice strained. “That it is customary among Asgardians to seal a friendship with... physical passion.”

Thor laughed deeply, and Loki shivered.

“ _Business_ _deals_ , sire,” Thor specified, in a whisper.

“We  _ could _ do business,” purred Svad. “There is much two horse-loving nations can share and trade.  _ Afterwards _ .”

Thor chuckled again. And then he whispered right into Svad’s ear, with an eye on Loki.

“There is much we can share, indeed. Much we have in common.”

“Isn’t that the truth,” purred Svad.

“If you yearn and ache as I do, if you burn as I do, and the object of our desires won’t sate his fire, and only fans ours…”

“Aye, I think I know what you mean,” whispered Svad in turn, his eye also on Loki. “Since the one we love will neither take pity on us, or himself, we are free, are we not? He wants us away. But what must we do with this fire? His ice cold manner does nothing to put it out.”

Svad leaned back against Thor’s chest, pressed against him from neck to ankles, always with an eye on Loki. 

“There is only one remedy that I know of, only one way to put out such a fire, even if only for a night,” whispered Thor close to Svad’s skin, eyes on Loki. “Let it burn.”

Svad turned his face, his eyes closed idly, and Thor kissed him.

He might be dreaming it all, Loki thought. Indeed, the herbs and oils in the sulphurous pool were very powerful. Maybe he was still there, passed out in the vapours of the adjacent chamber. He was actually feeling his cock tug him in the direction of the steamy scene before his eyes, like a compass pointing north.

Svad had now tilted his head, offering his neck, and reached behind himself to pull Thor close. The way Thor began to kiss him brought Loki unbearably vivid sensory memories. And though their lids would droop, they would soon rise again to cast heated, defiant glances towards Loki.

Loki was… an ungodly, cluttered, confounded gallimaufry of emotions in a spinning whirlwind. First of all, he was pissed off. He did not enjoy being mocked and taunted in such a brazen fashion. Second of all… Oh sweet roots of the World Tree, why? Whom among the gods had he offended so badly, that they were determined to break his resolve by any means? By refusing Thor, who would leave with his heart if Loki gave in to his advances, he had only been trying to keep his sanity! Who the Hel up in the Upper Realms was toying with his poor wretched soul and, uh, the rest of him? 

They turned to face him, unashamed. Thor was still working on Svadilfari’s neck from behind with his mouth, Svad was pressing against him, one powerful arm up to hold Thor’s head in place. Thor’s hands were reaching down, hidden in the water, and now so were Svadilfari’s. Svad turned in Thor’s arms, and the two men kissed, slowly and sensually and with evident expertise and mutual enjoyment. 

Immediately, with ruthless cruelty, Loki’s brain supplied an impression of what it would be to receive such attentions from these two well-practiced mouths  _ at the same time _ , and his body responded. Oh, how it responded. He wanted to breathe, but a little whimper came out instead. He couldn’t take his eyes off the scene before him, two outrageously built men with roaming hands and hungry lips, giving it to each other and moaning shamelessly, all for his  _ benefit. _ The dream with the eight-legged horse came back to him. Was it possible for him to become pregnant just from looking at that… overabundance of pressing, rubbing, bulging, tensing, shivering flesh? Poor Loki was so hard, a full stack of linen towels couldn’t have concealed his state. 

Over Svadilfari’s shoulder, with the half-gone expression of one whose most sensitive erogenous zones in the head and neck area are being thoroughly serviced, and perhaps some that were hidden underwater as well, Thor fixed his eyes on the poor, distraught, knee-buckling Jotun king.

“Low-kee,” whispered Thor, and reached with his hand, and beckoned. 

Loki ran.

 

***

  
  


The Lord of the Manor had given the King use of his chambers during his stay, as was customary. And into those chambers the King of Jotunheim barged, panting like a workhorse after ploughing a whole field, sweating like a pig, and not one teeny tiny bit refreshed or restored from his visit to the goddamn baths. 

He bounded determinedly towards the bronze water basin in the corner, which was as cold as one could expect when one leaves water to stand in a room in Jotunheim, and unceremoniously poured it over his head. It made him yelp, but it also cleared his head, in one single, quick, rather inelegant gesture. The bronze basin went flying and landed somewhere nearby with a clatter.

“FUCK!” screamed the king immediately after. “Fuck, fuck, fuuuuck!” 

He got rid of the linen towel, now soaked in chilled water, and paced the room with vigorous strides. 

“UGH!” he uttered as he went, as well as other noises of frustration and effervescent despair, much like a pot left covered over the stove as it boils and overboils and boils some more. For nineteen fucking months it had been simmering, and then, turn the fire up, and add another two months bubbling vigorously and ominously shaking the lid. And on this Nornsdamned day this kettle had said  _ enough _ , the lid had flown up in the air, and the contents had exploded in all directions! 

How dare they? How very bloody dare they? 

Dare what? No idea anymore, Loki’s brain was a massively overcooked stew of rage and frustrated desires, both lustful and murderous at once. After all this time of fierce resistance to temptation, he couldn’t even remember why he had been putting up such a fight. 

When the reasons came back to him, his rage deflated, replaced by wretchedness. To wit:  _ Because he is only here for a spell long enough to get you used to it, and too brief to get anything from it but more thirst. Because he used you ill once and fooled you, and though that has been forgiven, forgotten it is not _ . The fact remained that Thor did what he had to do for the good of his kingdom, and for his own good. And those words of love his tongue never seemed to run dry of, Loki only trusted them as far as he could throw them. Because Loki knew himself a little. Because he wanted it all so badly. Because he, at least, was sincere when he said he had found his dream companion in the Overlord of the Nine Realms. Even his presumptuousness, his arrogance, his cockiness, even that Loki put down on the good list. Even that endeared Thor to him, for Loki liked someone who could annoy him into exasperation, for he knew now how well he liked to be fucked in such a state. 

But one thing Loki could not endure was sharing. Thor’s body, perhaps, someday, when Loki had had his fill, and even wished to share his own. But Thor’s heart? Absolutely not. He must reign there supreme, like Thor reigned supreme in his own heart. He wanted everything, he wanted  _ all _ . 

And so, Loki would not survive the long months of separation should he agree to become Thor’s lover. Even should Thor swear an oath to never touch another living man or woman again, which Loki doubted Thor would do. Because that wasn’t the Asgardian way, was it? In Asgard you could give piece after piece of your heart, and it just kept growing back. Well, good for them. Loki wished his own heart could do that. But instead, Loki’s heart and mind and imagination had given themselves away whole to the King of Asgard, to the exclusion of every other living soul, and it wished for no-one else, not even darling, kind, selfless Svadilfari. 

And so, Loki found himself very cold and very wretched, naked in the middle of the room. Svadilfari’s room, by the by. When he sat on the bed, he imagined lying there beside the lord of the manor, in his arms. When he wrapped himself in a sheepskin, he imagined Svadilfari himself draping it on his shoulders after a pleasant night together. He imagined taking Svadilfari’s offer, and seeking comfort in his body and companionship, while his mind forever turned to Thor. Could he be so selfish? Could he use Svadilfari like that? Could he take him up on that offer, if it still stood anyway? 

If he did, wouldn’t the memory of the pleasure he had known in Thor’s arms begin to fade, as new pleasures in Svadilfari’s arms imprinted themselves atop the old ones and rubbed them away? Wouldn’t Svadilfari’s joy and humor come to relieve Loki’s melancholy, and in time do away entirely with it all? And when Thor came the next season for a few days, to talk trade and claim Loki’s attention, wouldn’t Loki find himself in less despair, in a much less pressing need, in a much more manageable situation of emergency for Thor’s touch and affection? And in a few seasons, perhaps, when the spell of Thor’s charm had been tasted plenty of times, it would lose power over him, and he would not find Thor’s arrogance so endearing, the magnetism of his presence not so irresistible. And perhaps, in time, he might be able to look at Thor and feel nothing at all. 

A thought came unbidden then: what if Loki had built up the memories of the pleasure he had experienced in Thor’s arms to such an insurmountable, forbidding peak because he had denied himself any other comfort? What if denying himself like that and resisting Thor’s advances so adamantly was only aggravating Loki’s need and his lust? What if Thor was not as good as Loki remembered, actually? What if Svadilfari could satisfy him just as well? What if he could indeed learn to love Svadilfari, or at least love him enough, that being apart from Thor was not such a terrible ordeal, and in time not a hardship at all?

Loki sat there pondering, a sense of revelation opening new avenues of thought for him. 

Perhaps he had been taking the wrong approach to this problem of his all along. Perhaps there were better ways to deal with it altogether.

 

“Your majesty, the Lady Angrboda to see you,” came the voice of whoever had been standing at his door since he had stepped inside the room.

“Let her in,” said Loki.

There she was, in iridescent velvet of a craftsmanship as fine as anyone in Jotunheim had ever seen; Loki remembered the fabric well; it had been one of the First Night offerings Thor had given him, and Loki had given it away to Angrboda in turn, because he thought such a delicate shade of turquoise would look stunning next to her dark skin. She had fashioned a headpiece and some slippers with the same material, and she looked indeed like a queen of legend.

“You would outshine the Northern Lights themselves tonight, should they dare appear.”

“Aw, shush. And you? I see you’re in no rush to get ready.”

“I’m not,” he sighed. 

“I’ll have you know, I have heard the most outrageous rumours out there. Allegedly, you are in the baths right now, having a jolly good time with  _ two _ particular muscled sportsmen. There are also conflicting reports about the King having been seen running half nude through the palace, so I came here to find out for myself if the latter was false, for I much preferred giving credit to the first rumour rather than the second. And I’m extremely disappointed to find you here.”

“The rumours,” repeated Loki, with a grumpy squint. “And I’m sure they’re extremely lewd and colorful, with vivid descriptions and much nudging and winking.”

“Extremely,” she said, pinching her lips, refraining a giggle, no doubt. “I was so happy for a moment, thinking you had finally loosened up and come to your slutty, slutty senses.”

Loki threw her a tired, mean glower. And then he huffed and buried his face in his hands and huffed some more, so very bloody  _ done _ . 

And then he thought of Thor and Svad, in the baths right now, fucking. 

“What ails you, my sweet?” she asked, solicitous now.

“They all think I’ve been fucking him from the start, don’t they? Thor,” said Loki. “Or is it both of them I’m supposed to take to my bed, every single day we’ve been on the road?”

Angrboda lifted an eyebrow, sensing the king’s irritation.

“Nothing I’ve done and nothing I’ve said all along has had any effect,” grumbled Loki, looking absorbed. “It’s much more fun to think the king is getting himself rawed from all angles. And whatever advantage or break I should manage to obtain for Jotunheim from Asgard, now and until the end of time, will never be considered as a triumph of my negotiating skills or my brains. No matter what I do, people will say I earned it by spreading my legs open.”

Angrboda was full-on frowning now, Loki’s gloomy, sour tone truly beginning to worry her. 

“What is it, Loki,” she said, no trace of condescension or humor in her tone now. 

“Everybody is having such a lot of fun on the back of this,” he seethed. “Everyone, except me.”

Angrboda smiled softly, with compassion. As for Loki, his stare was hard, and his resolve had straightened him up. He was  _ done _ being the laughing stock of the kingdom. He was done being pulled this way and that by his desires, his fears, and his bloody calculations. He’d just had  _ enough _ . 

He turned to Angrboda.

“Will you tell the servant at the door to call for my attendants, please,” he said, resolution in every word, as he draped the sheepskin over his shoulders in a more presentable manner. “I must get ready for dinner now.”

Angrboda nodded, with a knowing smirk. Her boy was up to something. He was going to take action, at last. What form this action would take remained to be seen, but she knew him well. No matter what he decided, it would be  _ tremendous _ .

 

***

 

Back in the baths, the sudden departure of the Jotun King had quite dampened spirits. Thor and Svad both found at the same time that their outburst of sensuality had faded as suddenly as if they’d been doused in ice water, and broke their kiss, and dropped their hands. They shared a dull look and a weak smile, and separated. Neither apologised nor elaborated. There was no need. They were kin in mind and soul, and so it seemed, their lust was too.

Svadilfari stared longingly where Loki had stood. Thor, in turn, stared at him.

“You really care for him, do you not?” he asked. 

Only then did Svadilfari notice he was being stared at. His olive complexion couldn’t hide his fluster.

“Aye, my Lord. For a long, long time.”

Thor observed him intently.

“Why did you never speak up?”

Svadilfari’s smile took a bitter, self-deprecating tilt.

“I was shy. He was oblivious, and… I suppose, because he didn’t know himself, he didn’t recognize the signals I sent to try and reach him, and I was timid, and insecure, and I took that as rejection. He can be rather hard to read, our King, when he wishes.”

“Is that so,” mused Thor, throwing his head back to soak his hair in the water.

“Do you not find it to be thus?”

Thor smiled fondly, and let his body be soothed by the heat and the weightlessness.

“Not at all,” he said, perhaps a tad smug.

“Of course, it’s much easy to read a person when they speak their hearts out sincerely, thinking their words cannot be understood,” said Svad, with a bite.

Thor had his eyes closed, and a raised eyebrow sufficed to express how bored he was with the subject by now.

“Before he even said one word,” he said.

“You brag.”

“I swear I do not,” protested Thor, emerging from the water, and turning an earnest look at Svadilfari. “I think, my friend, that your hopes and desires and your own timidity were like a haze before your eyes when you once looked upon the king, and so you were unable to interpret his obliviousness and hesitation for what it was. Then again, as you well said, it’s hard to see someone who doesn’t see himself.”

“Did he see himself, with you?”

The only way Thor could hide his smugness at that moment was to turn his face away.

“He did,” he said. “The very first moment he looked upon me. I’ve been stared at before like he did that day. I don’t usually struggle to recognise lust when I see it.”

“We have found it, then,” Svad sighed.

“Found what?”

“The one thing at which you truly are more gifted than I.”

Thor laughed in good humor, and then so did Svad. 

A long moment passed in silence, both men soaking in the warmth of the water and the steam in their maltreated muscles. The bruises and scratches showed more readily on the Asgardian’s paler skin.

“And you, my Lord?” asked Svadilfari at length. “How true is your affection for him?”

“ _ Affection _ ?” repeated Thor, offended by such a mild term for the enormity of his emotions. “I would turn the world on its head for him. I would burn a path of strife and pain to reach him. I would…”

“Alright, alright. He did say you were a grand speaker.”

“Is that what he said?” 

“Not exactly the words he picked, but that was the general meaning.”

They both smiled. How about that, they shared a sense of humor too.

“Would you have done it, then?” asked Thor. “Shared him with me just now?”

“I rather think it was the other way around. Would you share him with me?”

“Is it my place to share him with anyone?” asked Thor. “Is he anything of mine that I can offer?”

“I should think so, yes, in the metaphorical way one holds and owns a lover’s devotion.”

“You think I do, with Loki?”

“Are you really asking me that?” Svadilfari was now puzzled.

“Sire, I found him in your arms the very first night!”

“Oh, yes, he  _ was _ there, for all of fifteen heavenly minutes,” sighed Svad.

“You mean you’re  _ not _ his lover?”

“Oh, sire. And to think you brag about being able to read our king well.”

“But all these days…! Pushing me away! Rejecting my advances! If he so loves me, why would he…?”

“Well, I suppose he didn’t wish to make a fool out of himself.”

“Why would he?”

“You don’t quite get it, do you? With your fifty wives and your many lovers. If Loki agreed to share you with all those people, he would accept that his standing in the eyes of the world is precisely that, one among many. Perhaps your Lady Freya and your Lord Rogers are not concerned about that, but as King of Jotunheim, Loki cannot possibly accept it. Don’t you understand?”

Thor sighed, frowning in confusion. 

“I try to, I really do,” he said. “I didn’t realize it was a matter of public standing though. I thought it was more a… a condition of the Jotun physiology or psychology or… Why do you look at me like that? I have researched your culture and your customs for months now. I have read extensively. I had to learn how to best fulfill Loki’s needs, that I could be the companion he desires and longs for. I learned that the Jotnar are of a monogamous nature. That they are entirely devoted to one lover alone.”

“...Are we?” said Svadilfari, baffled. “No more and no less than any other people, I suppose.”

“But you marry one person, and when you love that person, you stay true to that person until death!”

“What exactly have you been reading, sire?”

Thor huffed, irritated with such questions.

“Let’s see,” said Svadilfari softly, massaging the pinch of skin between his eyebrows. “We marry, true. There are legal reasons, traditional reasons. But the propertied classes seldom marry for love, and should a man and wife not find each other agreeable, then there is actually quite a lot of pressure for the wife to find a lover that is more to her taste and get breeding, for up until very recently, many children died in their first years. The place of learning Lady Angrboda leads has made many advancements in midwifery and medicine, and the death rates are not as high as they once were, but this country’s views on adultery are still rather tolerant. We are not more or less constant in our affections than any other people. Some lovers stay together for life, some do not. We do not come from a foreign moon, my lord. We are the same as you are.”

“But we in Asgard… We have many lovers at the same time.”

“Oh yes, the Asgardian polyamorous mentality. I have heard of it. Well, I’m sure there are some among us who would quite happily live like that, should our customs not frown upon it. Aren’t there any Asgardians who remain faithful to one lover for life, and show no interest or desire for any other?”

“Indeed. My father and my mother… You mean there is no impediment in Loki’s heart? You mean… Loki can love you, and also me?”

“I suppose he could.” Svad sighed deeply. “But I do not think he does.”

Thor’s heartbreak shone in his eyes.

“Have I lost him entirely, then.”

“Lost him?” repeated Svad, with a snort. “How very bloody blind can a man be! You  _ own _ him, sir! Heart, soul, body, mind, hopes, and dreams! There is not an inch of King Loki you haven’t laid claim to! And in spite of your prolonged absence, still you haven’t given an inch!”

Thor seemed deeply puzzled.

“But… but he was in your arms!”

“Yes. I offered him company and solace.”

“My dear sir, the state of your hair and lips and your clothes were not from sharing  _ solace _ and  _ company _ alone.”

Svadilfari smiled for a moment, but soon the grin dulled, and what was left was a melancholy expression, soft and warm.

“I offered him my embrace and my bed as a lover, yes. And for all of a few minutes, the King accepted them. And that was the very moment you chose to return, blast you.”

“But if he is not bound to you, why won’t he come to me then?”

“Because he loves fully, as I do! He could never bear to share your affection!”

“Who is he supposed to be sharing my affection with?”

“Oh, let’s count them, shall we? Is it fifty wives in your harem? Sire, the tales of your sexual appetite are legendary.”

Thor smirked in a way that would have been unbearable to Svadilfari only one day ago, but tonight only just made him roll his eyes.

“The rumors about my sexual appetite and activities are greatly exaggerated,” said Thor. “It is true that, in the eyes of Asgardian law, I am the husband of every single member of the royal harem, for it nominally belongs to the king, but in truth it’s not quite mine, more like my grandfather’s. When the great Bor started to enlarge our wandering kingdom, he would offer friendship and alliance, and to other wanderers of the plains such as us, he would offer to join us. To many of those tribes and clans, marriage was the only truly sacred way to join two houses, that their blood would enter the royal line of Asgard, in a symbolical manner at least. So Bor ended up acquiring a large number of wives, a few husbands, some concubines, et cetera, and many children have been born from them, and they are all part of the Asgardian royal house and the court. And since my grandfather lived for such a long time, and because my father in his youth was still expanding the kingdom, so he brought in a few more men and women, for their merit, or for political reasons, for some people this is how always has been: the king and his harem. However, he meant to change things, my father; but he knew to ease those changes in gently, that the sensibilities of those more enamoured with the old ways would not be shaken. He didn’t visit the harem much, and after he married my mother, not at all. 

“As for me… Those men and women pretty much raised me, you see? I call them aunts and uncles, and their children I call cousins. I haven’t added one single member to the royal harem, nor do I intend to. I have released those who wished for a different life, with my blessings and a royal pension, and those who have chosen to remain, I shall look after their needs and see them honored until… Well, many of them are as old as my grandfather. To put it rather bluntly, I shall let the royal harem die out. In short, I do not  _ really _ have fifty wives.”

Svadilfari was staring in disbelief. 

“What about the Lady Freya of Vanaheim? And your midgardian lover, Lord Rogers?”

“Oh, them. I have known them both for a long, long time. With Lady Freya, I was but a pup, a young princeling, when I first lay eyes on her. Of course, I was swept off my feet. Such a stunning, worldly woman. She taught me many things, and in my naivety and eagerness, I even hoped, for the first months of our acquaintance at least, that she would become my wife. She never had the least intention of doing so, of course, and disabused me of such a notion the moment she learned I harbored those hopes. My pride was hurt, but, well, her many charms had not diminished. And I have indeed enjoyed our long acquaintance all this time. But I have never truly loved her, safe for that brief infatuation, and for the last few years, I have to say, our encounters have quite tempered. I do believe, but guard my secret, that she uses our entanglement to dissimulate the true attachment of her heart, her twin brother Freyr.”

“Her brother!” gasped Svadilfari, shocked.

“I know, I know,” dismissed Thor with a lazy gesture of his hand. “But it’s not the Asgardian way to make it our business of what takes place between other people’s sheets, so long as both parties are happy, and I do believe they are.”

“What about Lord Rogers?”

“Ah, my beloved Steve. So dear to me. Him too I have known for many years, and we have shared many adventures and many pleasant nights together. He is one of the few people on Yggdrasil who can outdrink me under the table. He can keep up too in other ways, if you know what I mean. Yes, we are tender, effusive companions. But Steve’s heart cannot be given. He lost it long ago to a man he yet hopes will return, and in the meantime, he shares his life and affection with another loyal, selfless, devoted companion, Lord Wilson. Aye, I do love Steve, but not in the way I love our King. To be quite honest, I don’t think I have ever loved the way I love Loki. For long now I had felt this emptiness inside, this… dullness. Even my lust, which has always been healthy and abundant, had dimmed. Yes, don’t look at me like that. The reports may be exaggerated, but I never said they were baseless. I have been known to exhaust several lovers in one night, and I might have been quite a hothead in my day, and I used to chase after any pretty thing that caught my eye, but I seem to have lost my appetite for it. I had not felt anything that ran any deeper than my skin for I can’t remember how long, and nobody managed to excite me and retain my interest for more than one night, if that. And I was constantly restless and dissatisfied. I longed for more. I longed for… Well, I did not know what I longed for, until I met Loki. And yes, I deceived him, I let him talk freely believing I could not understand, and for that I was quite chastised on that night. But when he talked so freely, unguarded, candid, and so damned sweet… I don’t need to tell you, do I, what a delight he can be. I was wary of falling so quickly and so hard, but I just could not help myself. Hel, I did not  _ want _ to help myself. He was all I had been dreaming of. And the moment I saw him again, in spite of, well, bearing your marks all over, it was like being struck by lightning. And everytime I see him, I feel this rush inside… I have never felt like this before. I love him passionately and tenderly at once. Norns, how it pains me. I need him...”

“Lovely words,” cut Svadilfari harshly. “And yet you visited the Lady Freya and Lord Rogers both, just before you came here.”

Thor threw Svadilfari a sideways squint.

“Keep up with my every move, do you not?”

Svadilfari flushed again, caught out. “Hard not to. You’ve been the talk of the town for a while now.”

Thor grinned, unable to hide his satisfaction.

“Aye, I did,” he said. “I had to tell them that our agreement must come to an end. That Asgard would always be their friend, and so would their king, but our other, more intimate dealings would now cease. I told them it was not the way in Jotunheim, and that I wanted to honour that, but in truth, it was not a sacrifice or a hardship. I had lost all my enthusiasm for it. It was Loki I coveted, Loki who filled every moment and every thought. I will always cherish them, but apparently my heart knows not how to share either.”

Svadilfari stared in bafflement at the king of Asgard.

“Why haven’t you told Loki you’ve broken your agreement with Lady Freya and Lord Rogers on his account?”

“Because, my lord, I didn’t wish to make a fool out of myself. How would it appear, tell me, if after finding him in somebody else’s embrace, I then got on my knees and confessed that all this time I’ve done nothing but endeavour to win him, while he very clearly had decided I wasn’t worth the wait!”

“So, you didn’t tell him because you were in a huff.”

“Damn right I was in a huff! I’ve been toiling tirelessly for many months, trying to find a way for Loki and I to be together as I had sworn. And I’ve been rushing things, for sure, risking disaster in my haste to see him, pushing for changes and not waiting for them to settle -and it might all still fall to pieces, may the Norns protect us all. And I get here, and he is… snogging another man! Wouldn’t you have been, shall we say, a little huffy?”

“...I guess I would.” granted Svadilfari thoughtfully, for his curiosity was spiked. “What are those changes you speak of?”

Thor brooded.

“What is Loki’s understanding with Lady Sigyn?” he said, instead of an answer.

“They look upon each other as brother and sister, as far as I know.  _ Loving _ brothers and sisters,” he noted. “I believe Loki likes and relies on the Lady Sigyn more warmly than his own siblings, at times.”

“Does the kingdom love her?”

“Yes, dearly. She is well respected and cherished. She will make a fine queen.”

Thor sighed. “Yes, I gather she will.”

“But the country also looks kindly on your entanglement, sire, the king’s and yours,” said Svadilfari. “It is not a minor advantage to have the affection of the Overlord of the Nine Realms.”

“Our entanglement,” sighed Thor. “That which isn’t there.”

Svadilfari grinned mildly, not without sympathy.

“I swore I would put the world on its head that we could be together, and I have,” muttered Thor. “There is still much left to do indeed, but there is no turning back. It might all have been for naught. I’ll be the laughing stock of the whole of Yggdrasil. ...And I do not care one jot about any of it. I do not. All I care about, all that I wish, is to be with Loki again.” Thor rubbed his eyes heavily. “I am a fool for love. What a dangerous thing for a king.”

Svadilfari was looking on intently.

“What do you mean, turned the world on its head?”

Thor looked on in turn, and assessed the Jotun lord for a long moment. At length, he said,

“Can you keep a secret, my friend?”

  
  


***

 

Lord Svadilfari’s house was not pretentious or ashamed of their provincial status, but the prosperity the many strategies of their current lord had brought in shone in numberless little details. It would be a pleasant evening.

The Overlord of the Nine Realms and the Lord of the Manor were having a famous time together at the table, as close and familiar as brothers, laughing and talking as if instead of weeks of rivalry they had spent the entire time on the road becoming the best of friends. The gossip about their reported activities in the baths had reached every corner of the country by now, which added an extra touch of spice to the spectacle of their interactions. 

There was great expectation surrounding the king’s arrival. He was late.

When the doors finally opened for him and his name was announced, all heads turned and were met with a vision so astonishing, a silence as sudden as an April snowfall fell on the hall. Loki had donned his best leathers, trimmed with fur, with bronze finishings carved with swirls and runes. The magnificent raven feather cape was dragging behind him. On his head, the gold crown of horns; his long hair had been braided with gems and gold thread, and on his face,  a deep shade of midnight blue due to the  _ blársteinn _ , he wore the raised marks of his house painted in gold. He advanced across the room in full majesty, commanding the undivided attention of all present and carrying it easily, as his due. 

He climbed the steps to the dais and took his place in the tall, carved wooden chair between the Lord of the Manor and the King of Asgard. 

“Commence,” he said, with a gesture.

And thus lifted the freezing spell that had stopped cups halfway to the lips, and lips halfway in the middle of a word. The servants hurried about to bring food and drink, the musicians picked up their instruments, and the conversations were taken up more or less where they had ceased. The atmosphere, however, was heavily charged. The King of Jotunheim was in the room, and how.

Around him at the table, Fandral resumed his courting of Angrboda, Hogun and Volstagg continued making merry with a few Jotun gourd players, Val and Sif remained lost in their own little bubble, Balder and Byleistr kept whispering on their own, and at the tables laid perpendicular to the royal table on the dais, the courtiers chatted and joked and laughed, and one could be forgiven for thinking that nobody was paying any mind to the conversation at the king’s table. Of course, that wasn’t so. Everybody in the room, from the most exalted to the lowliest, were trying not to miss a word spoken between the three lords. 

“Did you enjoy the baths?” said Loki, with nothing but a quick glance to indicate whom he was addressing -Thor, who was still gawking in awe. “I’m sure Lord Svadilfari gave you a _ thorough viewing _ . He couldn’t possibly pass on the chance of parading his  _ accomplishments _ before the very Overlord of the Nine Realms himself.” He turned to Svad. “Isn’t that so, sire?” 

Thor caught on to the nasty implications of Loki’s words, but didn’t repay them in kind.

“They are indeed a great feat of engineering, as efficient as they are beautiful. I was not disappointed. Our friend Lord Svadilfari is as skilled an architect as you purported.”

“Thank you, my lord,” said Svadilfari. “Your majesty.”

“Thank me? What for?” snapped Loki. “It was all your doing. I mattered very little, for Thor King has eyes, and your… gifts are all your own. I had so little bearing in the matter, one might say my presence in this  _ argument _ rather gets in the way of, shall we say, the point.”

Silence.

“How could your majesty ever get in the way,” tried Svad. “This land is yours by right and by its own volition. It belongs to you entire.”

“Do you mean to say I am king in my subjects’ minds and hearts as well? Norns forbid! I do not want such a responsibility. All I demand from my subjects is  _ loyalty _ .” He chewed the last word with a mean emphasis. “And even that I don’t always seem to command. You  _ did _ say, Lord Svadilfari, that the northern Lords call themselves kings in their own land. I can’t say I wasn’t warned.”

Lord Svadilfari paled. Thor was regarding him gravely. He knew well how it felt to be on the sharp end of Loki’s pointed, merciless tongue.

“Your majesty looks ravishing tonight,” he said, putting his words as a shield between the Jotun king and his troubled vassal, or as if waving a red flag to deflect attention towards himself.

“This little old thing?” sneered Loki, impervious to flattery. “You two, however, look like two apparitions from the battle of Nilfhorod,” he commented.

Svad and Thor smiled now, and assessed each other’s bruises and scratches and their own, Thor’s black eye, Svad’s broken lip, and the black mud they had not managed to remove from under their nails altogether. They laughed in comradeship. 

“It was a lot more fun than any battle,” said Thor, in a fine mood. “I’d vow to do it again, but I’m afraid your majesty didn’t enjoy himself quite as much as we did.”

“You can  _ do it  _ as often as you like,” gritted Loki between his teeth, his eyes green with malice. “As usual, you do as you please, for you are Overlord here, are you not? And as for vowing, you go back on your word as the consummate dancer you’ve proven yourself to be.”

A series of gasps from those courtiers who didn’t know how to pretend to be minding their own business. Thor regarded the king in silence for a moment. He didn’t seem personally affected so much as saddened by Loki’s animosity, and for Svadilfari’s mortification and guilt. He leveled Loki with a stern, grave mood. 

“I’d sooner dance than talk, any time,” said Thor, grim. “And I’d soon go into battle than have a contest of words with your majesty. Arrows have pierced my flesh that were not as sharp and painful as your majesty’s quick, ruthless tongue.”

Loki stared back, annoyed that Thor seemed to be taking it lying down. It took the fun out of it. Bored with the game, he started on his food, and the rest of the room followed. 

For a long while, the centre of the main table was mostly silent. Around them, the courtiers chatted, the musicians played. It was a merry atmosphere, in spite of the gloomy countenance on the face of the lord of the manor and the two kings.

When the main courses of the meal were done, some who had had enough took to the space at the end of the hall to dance. Two long parallel rows faced each other for one of those convoluted Jotun courting dances. And Val and Sif joined it too, with Sif on the women’s row, and Val on the men’s. Once the dancing started, it became apparent that Val had managed to become proficient in the tricky steps of Jotun dancing, and guided Sif flawlessly and most gracefully. 

“I think I’ve learned to appreciate the convoluted, nuanced nature of the dances of this country,” commented Thor. “The sensuality of it. I thought how could one focus on courting when one is constantly trying to remember when to turn or where the foot goes, but clearly, seeing Val and Sif, it can be done.”

“Practice, is all it takes,” said Svadilfari.

“And a good teacher, I presume,” noted Thor. “I hear your majesty is a magnificent dancer, but I have yet to witness his prowess.”

“Being good at dancing doesn’t make one good at teaching,” said Loki, pretending to be bored.

“You’re absolutely right,” said Thor. At which point he washed his hands, and tapped Svadilfari on the shoulder. “I must crack the devilish dancing of this country once and for all. Will you teach me, sire?”

Svadilfari looked from Thor to Loki, and back to Thor. Loki was feigning interest now in the state of his nails.

“By all means, my lord,” said Svadilfari. And called for a basin to wash his hands as well.

And so it came to be that the Overlord of the Nine Realms stood in line beside his friend Sif, while Svadilfari attempted to show him the basic steps. And much fun they had with it too. Loki watched from his lonely spot at the table, and his mood became more sour by the minute. Thor looked magnificent this evening, with his golden hair seeming to catch all the light in the room. His height and sheer girth were perfectly matched with Svad’s, whose deep brown hair and eyes and his darker skin complemented Thor’s perfectly. Everybody had turned to stare at them. Except for those who kept throwing curious glances at Loki. Loki, who had come to this dinner with a purpose, and was instead sitting behind and sulking like a big kid. 

“The water basin, please,” he asked.

With due respect, and clean hands, he removed the heavy golden crown of horns, which an attendant rushed to take from him. And then he strode to the dancing lines and stood behind Thor. Gorgeous Thor, laughing at his missteps, radiating beauty, infecting everyone around him with a greater zest for life, just like he had infected him, for that one night. And he would leave soon, and take it all with him, but that would be then, and this was now. 

“You keep putting this foot wrong,” he whispered in Thor’s ear. “The first turn is always left. Let me show you.” He put his hands around the Asgardian King’s waist, stuck to his back, and guided him. 

If surprise had frozen Thor for an instant, Loki’s closeness warming his back soon made him thaw. Loki felt him shiver as they moved with the music. Over Thor’s shoulder, Svadilfari was wearing a frown.

“Wrong again,” whispered Loki right in Thor’s ear again, his eyes heavy on Svadilfari’s. And he stepped in front of Thor, and stood between him and Svad. He said over his shoulder, “Follow me.”

They moved. Svad’s dark eyes widened at the unexpected delight of dancing with his king. Behind Loki, Thor couldn’t care less for the steps. His hands were on Loki’s trim waist, his body was warming with Loki’s closeness.

There are only a few touches in traditional Jotun dancing—hands that join for a moment and part, brushing shoulders as the partners revolve around each other, and little more. Defying tradition, with the excuse of teaching Thor the steps, Loki held Thor’s hands to guide their movements, and as he did so, he rubbed against him like a cuddly cat, but it was Thor that purred.

After a while, Loki spun around to face Thor, his back now glued to Svad. 

“Closer,” he said, and neither Thor nor Svad could know whom he was addressing, so they both obeyed, drunk on the sudden turn in Loki’s mood.

And how he made them dance indeed, with only a sultry stare and a pass of his hand. They revolved vaguely following the music, too enmeshed in their little game to pay much attention to the gawkish looks of shock surrounding them.

Loki did notice. He met each look with fierceness, every murmur and every whisper making him bolder and more brazen.

And hornier. The press of those two powerful bodies, the heavy stares steaming with lust, the ebb and flow of the dancing, and yes, all those  _ looks _ , the elders about to pass out from the terrible scandal, the youngest picturing the naked version of the whole event in their heads, in jealousy and desire.

And that was Loki’s revenge on them all. And my, didn’t he enjoy it. But now that it was done, he had nothing else left to do in the big banquet hall. 

“The king is retiring,” he announced, eyes fixed on Lord Svadilfari’s, his hands woven with Thor’s around his waist. “The party may continue.” 

He disengaged from both his suitors, and walked out, chin up, eyes front, untroubled and unaffected by the ripples his shameless behaviour had caused among the courtiers. As he was about to cross the threshold, he stopped, and threw a look to his back, to Svad and Thor, still planted where he had left them and baffled. One single, tiny gesture with his head, and both men were released from the invisible holds of their bewilderment, and rushed after him like a pair of dogs sniffing the trail of a bitch in heat.

Loki didn’t wait for them. He walked towards the chambers of the lord of the manor without even turning once. The chamberlain opened the doors for him, and hesitated a moment for Svadilfari and the king of Asgard.

“Let them in,” said Loki, already inside. And he added, “We don’t want to be disturbed,” one moment before the doors shut, with Svadilfari and Thor in the room with him.

Now Loki’s breathing was rushing, and his hands were not as steady as they had been. He managed to retain the cool, calm air of prepossession as he turned.

“Attend me,” he said.

Thor and Svad looked at each other, hesitating. It was but a second. Svadilfari’s status was the lowliest in the room. Should this be a normal situation, nobody would wonder whom of the three should be serving.

Loki stood still and locked eyes with Thor as Svad relieved him of the heavy raven cape, and then started on the laces, buttons, and buckles of his leathers. After the bodice part had come off, leaving only the summer linens underneath, Svad put down one knee to work around the tight lacings of the waist. His hands delayed as they were about to set to work on the codpiece. He looked up for a moment, and found his king’s eyes on him, piercing and dark. 

“Shy, sir?” asked Loki.

Svad smirked up at him, his stare darkened with lust.

“Never again, my lord,” he said, in a low rumble. A sharp tug, and the bindings that kept Loki’s trousers in place gave way. Svad peeled the garment off the king’s legs. 

Loki sat on the bed for Svad to unlace his boots and remove his trousers. He was down to his linens, his blue ointment, his gold paint, and his gems. 

“I can take it from here,” murmured Loki, his voice thinned to a caressing sound. 

He stood up and dropped his underthings, revealing that the  _ blársteinn _ and the swirls of gold that marked his house and his crown had been applied all over his skin, and curled suggestively around nipples and buttocks and other parts, leading the eye to the most intimate recesses of his body. His hair was still threaded with gems and gold thread, a gold chain harness adorned his shoulders and chest, bracelets twinkled around his wrists and ankles, snakes made of gold curled around his upper arm, gold vines tangled around his thigh. Even his pubic hair had been dusted with gold, and his genitals painted blue. He stood to be gazed at in all his otherworldly magnificence. 

“Well?” said Loki. His heart was beating hard, but his stance was resolute, even defiant. 

Lord Svadilfari, still on his knees, held the King’s hand and kissed the palm fervently.

“My Lord,” he whispered, full of reverence.

Loki raised his eyes to Thor, and found him staring. There was dark hunger in his gaze, and curiosity. Did he think Loki wouldn’t go through with it?

“Have we come to that, sire?” Loki whispered to Svad, suggestive. “Haven’t you higher ambitions than my hand?”

Svadilfari stood to his feet. He had a couple of inches on the King, and so Loki titled his head up in offering. He couldn’t conceal now the quickening of his breath. He closed his eyes, but Svadilfari kept him waiting. For a moment, all the northern lord wished to do was gaze upon the object of his desires in his full glory. His stare, heavy and pressing as a pass of his hand, made Loki tremble.

“I’m not here to be worshipped from afar,” whispered Loki. “I’ve had quite enough of that.”

With a feral smirk, Svad kissed the King’s forehead, and then lifted him bodily and threw him on the bed, where he fell in a tinkle of metal. Loki gasped out of surprise and pure arousal, and lay still, eager to submit to whatever Svadilfari had in mind. Which for another moment consisted of gazing, as if he wanted to fix the memory in his mind before he plunged in and got lost in a state where defined recollections would be harder to pick and preserve. It had Loki shivering. He looked at Thor, inviting him to look in turn. Svadilfari then lay atop the king, and kissed his mouth deeply, smearing his own face in gold and blue. Loki let himself melt into it, his skin awakening. Oh, he had missed this.

“My king…” whispered Svad into the crook of Loki’s neck.

“My name…” whispered Loki in turn.

“Loki, Loki…” Svadilfari’s hands and mouth feasted on the offerings set on his bed. The press of the king’s hard cock trapped between their bodies was summoning within him an urgency as pressing as an animal’s heat. 

Svad was nuzzling and nibbling like a wolf, inebriated with the offerings beneath him. Oh, he had to feel it. He had to feel him, Loki, his king, the boy who had enchanted him, the man who had seduced his entire being. Svad tugged at his own clothes, ripping when he needed to. Loki helped, as eager as Svad himself to rid them both of any barriers still standing between their skins. And when he was naked, it was Loki who pushed him away, that he could feast his eyes on that glut of muscular beauty. But his patience ran shorter. He reached up for him. 

“Come to me already,” he mumbled, hungered, wrapped arms and legs around Svad and drew him flush against his own body, painting him blue and gold. 

“My name,” whispered Svadilfari, between kisses.

“Svad,” smiled Loki, sweetened by passion, “Sweet Svad,” and his lips were plundered and ravished as a reward. Patient, perseverant Svad. Please, don’t wait another moment… 

Spurred by the king’s soft moans and muttered pleas, soon Svadilfari wanted to taste more of what lay beneath him, and began a ravenous descent over the Loki’s body. Over Svad’s shoulder, as he writhed and shuddered under that exploration, Loki stared at Thor. His expression, heavy lids, lips parted, was softened and transported as Thor hadn’t seen it since that single night so long ago. He had remembered it in the lonely days that had followed. And Loki kept his eyes fixed on him, as if making sure he was seeing this, seeing  _ him _ .

Svad realized that Loki’s attention had strayed, and stopped at once, his pride wounded. He cupped Loki’s chin, turning his face to look at  _ him _ , not Thor, and took Loki’s mouth ferociously, then set to ravish his throat, intent on making Loki forget Thor was even there by drowning him in pleasure.

“Grab his hair tight when you do his neck,” said Thor, from a distance. 

Svad looked over his shoulder, thrown off for a moment.

“And put your tongue in his ears,” added Thor. “It drives him wild.”

After a second of hesitation, Svad cupped the back of Loki’s neck, clawed his hand into his hair, and pulled, exposing Loki’s throat to his mouth. Loki whimpered and clung to his back. Then Svad’s mouth roamed to Loki’s ears, and Loki sunk his nails in and bucked his hips to press more closely against Svadilfari, who pressed down in turn. They were rolling their hips together now, Loki’s long legs squeezing tight.

“Hold his wrists,” said Thor, a bit closer now. “Restrain him. He’ll fight you. Ignore it.”

This time, Svadilfari did not hesitate. He held Loki’s wrists in one hand over his head, and continued his exploration. Loki fought him indeed, moaning shamelessly as he struggled, with his neck and nipples, and now his ears too, serviced with mouth and lips and teeth and tongue. 

He looked at Thor, his eyes glazed, dreamy, calling. Thor started to shed his clothes and stepped closer. He was mesmerised by Loki’s face, that gentle indolence, the small twitches of his brow, his mouth parted wide in a silent moan. He was as aroused as he was enthralled. He had seen Loki like this in his daydreams day after day, and in his dreams night after night, and to have in now before him in the flesh… 

Svadilfari was mumbling into Loki’s ear.

“I need to be inside you,” Thor heard him say. “Let me inside you.”

Loki’s fingers raked deeply into Svad’s hair.

“Yes,” he mumbled back, pleading. “Fuck me already, fuck me…”

Svadilfari straightened up, his eyes glazed with arousal.

“Oil,” he asked Thor. “In the dresser.”

Thor returned with a slim ceramic vial.

“On his stomach. He loves it on his hands and knees,” he told Svad.

With a roughness that made Loki whine in arousal, Svad rolled him over. And they both saw it then, and is fair to say they nearly died right from it. Free for a moment, Loki half turned, with a defiant smirk, and pulled up his knee, spreading himself, that they would both better appreciate the spectacle. Yes, indeed, he was wearing one of the exquisite glass plugs he had found tucked discreetly among the First Night gifts, once he was back in Jotunheim. Devastated by longing at first and increasingly furious later, he had ignored them stubbornly all these months, refusing to even acknowledge their existence... but he always kept them close. Before the banquet, after the blársteinn was applied, but before his clothes were buckled on, he had spent a few enjoyable moments by himself, getting ready precisely for this moment. With a cheeky look, he removed it now and got on his knees, looking over his shoulder as he offered his ass. 

“Norns…” came Svadilfari’s voice, husky and thick. 

He took position behind Loki, but teased himself and the king both at first, delaying, rubbing his cock on the soft skin, but not pressing.

“Oh, fucking Hel, stop tormenting me already…” groaned the Jotun king.

“Yes, your majesty,” said Svad, with a note of sarcasm.

“Oh, you…” Whatever Loki was about to call him, it flew off his mind the moment Svadilfari pushed inside him. “ _ Fuuuck… _ ”

“Yes, your majesty?” said Svad, cocky, though his own voice was strained.

Loki looked above his shoulder once more, his gaze smouldering with heat.

“Well, then, horseman,” he said, “I thought you wanted to show the King of Asgard how we ride here in Jotunheim...”

With a firm hold of Loki’s hips, and a feral smirk, Svadilfari took his meaning. The slap of flesh and the wet slide was the only sound for a moment, but as the coupling picked up pace and fury, their gasps and grunts broke, Svad’s dark and husky, Loki’s pleading, kittenish.

As for Thor, he wished he could see Loki’s expressions, but the king of Jotunheim soon collapsed on his front, clinging to the sheets, desperate, and buried his face in the pillows.

“His wrists,” said Thor, his breath short too, his erection straining in his leathers. “Hold them behind his back.”

Svad didn’t even break pace to do just that. And, oh, the music Loki made as he was tirelessly fucked into the mattress, helpless, unable to touch himself, unable to do anything but take it any which way Svadilfari pleased. 

Thor turned to Svadilfari then, stood behind his back, and let his hands roam, felt his strong thighs and ass as they ploughed the king’s body, the ripples of his muscled back, the magnificence of those arms as they grabbed Loki’s wrists and hip tight, the mighty chest with its hardened nipples. And soon Thor had found out that Svadilfari was fond too of feeling fingers raking deeply into his scalp and grabbing his hair, and that sucking intensely the crook of his neck at the same time made him completely lose his bearings. He never stopped moving, but his hoarse grunts and gasps became pleading moans, and with Thor’s mouth finding new spots to worship on the back and sides of his neck, he began to crest. For those final moments, Thor left Loki and Svadilfari to themselves. The last thrusts were deep and slow, with Loki arching like a cat when Svadilfari stroked his neck and back as he spent deep inside his body. 

Loki was not spent, and the moment Svadilfari pulled out of him and released his hold, he fell on his stomach to hump the mattress, desperate for stimulation. Svad turned to look at Thor then, bowed his head minutely, and stepped away. 

Thor didn’t waste a moment. He unlaced his trousers, which he had kept on, and tight, to refrain from stroking himself to orgasm before he could even get a taste of Loki, and pushed his leathers and underthings down. With no more consideration than Svad had shown by rolling the king of Jotunheim on his stomach, now Thor rolled him onto his back and pressed between his legs. 

But Loki wasn’t ready to take this lying down, as they say. Twisting and writhing like a wild animal, he managed to push the king of Asgard on his back and climb atop him. 

“Low-kee…” sighed Thor, overwhelmed.

“Shut up.”

And their hands met where they were fumbling to line Thor up. Loki’s back arched dramatically when the right spot was found, as he took Thor deep inside, at long fucking last.

“Look at me,” muttered Thor from below, hands up, cupping Loki’s face, gently trying to lead him downwards. “Look at me.”

Loki shook him off and started to bounce with fury, fucking himself with the urgency and need of one who is already close to peaking and wants to get there already.

“Look at me, Low-kee…” pleaded Thor, his voice strained by Loki’s merciless assault on his senses.

“You have what you wanted,” hissed Loki, panting, eyes stubbornly shut, taking his pleasure blindly. “What you predicted has come to pass. I couldn’t resist you. I gave in in spite of it all. You  _ win _ . What… else... do you…  _ want _ .” He punished both Thor and himself with a strong downward thrust in each of those words.

“I want you to look at me,” whispered Thor.

And something deep inside Loki’s bones and flesh remembered that voice all too well. He opened his eyes, and when his met Thor’s, neither were able to avert their gaze again. Loki resumed his wild ride with renewed frenzy.

“Kiss me,” said Thor.

“Nineteen… fucking… months…” grumbled Loki, exhausting himself trying to ride Thor to climax. 

“Kiss me…”

Loki leaned over, but not to kiss him. He grabbed the Asgardian King’s hair, twisted it viciously, knowing how much Thor enjoyed that, and stared him down with all the heartbreak, the frustration, and the irritation of their long time apart, and the last weeks of self-inflicted torment.

Thor now had room to help. He started to fuck up, and the clash of their hips made Loki whimper desperately. And now Thor was smirking in a way that didn’t make Loki slow down one bit, but put him on guard. All of a sudden, the king of Asgard looked like a little boy with mischief on his mind. What was he up to?

“Moon of my life…” whispered Thor, first in his own language, then in Jotun. 

“Shut up,” grunted Loki, bouncing.

“My sun and stars, gilding the skies,” continued Thor, still fucking up, and guiding Loki’s hips hard down against his own, the soft panting putting a strain in his words that was positively sinful. “King of my heart and dreams, who stole my soul and now lives within me forever, who took my very own self and carries it with him there afar, where the midnight sun and the rainbow lights…”

“Shut  _ up _ !” snarled Loki.

Thor’s smirk grew even cockier.

“Low-kee, as sweet as the honey from the comb, who clutches my heart as a basket of kittens and ducklings, who…”

“Fucks  _ sakes _ !” roared Loki, and relented, and shut the king up with a decidedly punishing kiss. 

Which didn’t stay punishing for long. When Loki felt Thor’s arms around him, as those lips kneaded his with infinite tenderness and passion, not only did he forget he was pissed off as fuck, but he also forgot what he was doing, melting into the touch his dreams had never let him forget, but could never match. 

Thor rolled them over and began to move again, idly, wanting to savor every moment. Loki threaded his hands in his hair and hooked his ankles behind Thor’s arse.

“Harder,” he demanded between kisses, “faster.”

And this one time, Thor did not make him beg. He picked up the pace and the intensity. The kiss never broke as Thor mounted him, vigorously now, both too close already to delay, wishing only to peak and then tumble down the other side, but as they went that way together, their mouths went at each other with the hunger and need of many months apart. And they were still kissing when Loki spent between their bodies with a quiet gasp and a shiver, and they were still kissing when Thor buried himself deep, whispered Loki’s name, and finally let go. 

 

Thor returned from the adjoining room with a few towels, a basin with water pumped up straight from the hot springs below, and a light step. He was stupidly happy, giddy even. He had already performed some basic ablutions on himself, but he was still half covered in blue and smudges of gold. He knew it took a little more than hot water to remove the  _ blársteinn _ . It tingled on his skin, on his tongue, on certain nooks and crannies of his body. It was fucking  _ delicious _ .

He walked in to find Svadilfari looking melancholy out the window to the sea, and Loki with their back turned to both of them, huddled under sheets and furs. The atmosphere was quite gloomy. He put down the basin, soaked a towel, and brought it to Loki. Loki sat up to clean himself, but avoided his eyes. Thor’s kiss on top of his head, he did not avoid.

Then Thor brought another wet towel to Svadilfari, who took it with a very small smile that stopped far from his eyes. Thor attempted to sit down on the windowsill, but the stone was freezing cold, and he jumped back up as if he’d been bitten. And Svadilfari began to laugh. 

“Do I amuse you, sir?” said Thor, feigning offense.

“King of Asgard, Overlord of the Nine Realms, the Vanquisher of the Tyrant of Ur, the hero of the battle of New York…” Svadilfari started to laugh even harder.

Thor pursed his mouth to avoid joining him. He stepped right into Svadilfari’s face.

“Do you need a lesson in manners, now?”

Svadilfari met the challenge, squared his shoulders, and played along.

“And are  _ you _ going to teach me, my lord?”

Loki in bed had turned his face to see what the hell where those two up to this time. He saw with horror Svad barging into Thor like a tavern brawler, and Thor spinning to avoid the clash, and holding Svad’s neck in a tight hold. Svad began to shake and writhe to let loose. They were both laughing. Loki rolled his eyes. Pups at play, mock-fighting. 

And then pups at another sort of play, the wrestling key turned into an embrace, and kissing. Loki observed the strange, tender interaction without the fever and indignation he had experienced in the baths. How beautiful they were together. They could have been brothers, light and dark, so bloody big and thick and muscular and  _ animal… _ Loki’s blood began to heat up and run faster. Damn, but he had  _ just _ been thoroughly fucked. His breathing was getting short again, his pulse was beating faster. He heard Angrboda’s exclamation in his mind,  _ Loki Mörtmyr Laufeyson, you absolute  _ slut _! _

Thor had Svad by the hand, and was trying to lead him to bed. Svad, however, wasn’t moving. One hesitant, shifty, longing, shy gaze at Loki still in bed, and Loki knew what to do. He walked to the two men, and slipped in between them. He was facing Svad, cupping his bearded jaw gently. He kissed him, that Svad would know he was wanted here. 

Then his hands reached down, where he was being prodded front and back by a pair of hardening cocks. He grasped them both, felt them throbbing and twitching in his hands, and soaked in the gasps and grunts of Thor and Svad so close to him, his mouths seeking Loki’s skin to kiss and nibble. They both held their breaths when they saw that Loki was going down on his knees. With his eyes up to see that pair of beautiful faces unhinged and tormented with anticipation and overwhelming lust, and a firm hold of their thick, really majestic manhoods, he licked them playfully, each in turn, teasing, rolling merrily like a cat in the sun in the glorious rush of power when he had them shivering, biting their lips, whimpering. Loki was aware that his skills could not measure up with the massively more experienced lovers each of those men had had in their lives. He would have felt perhaps a dart of insecurity, were it not for the desperate, utterly helpless looks on their faces. And so, forgetting about it all, he sucked them in turn into his mouth. He got them wet, so that he could stroke with his hand whichever it was his mouth wasn’t entertaining at the moment. Shit, he loved this. He was moaning shamelessly, there, on his knees, taking what he wanted, turning two pairs of knees to soup.

“Kiss him,” he told them. He wasn’t sure who he was addressing, but in any case, he was obeyed. Svad and Thor turned slightly and got closer to go at each other’s mouths. Incidentally, their cocks also got closer together. They didn’t both fit in Loki’s mouth at the same time, but nothing stopped him from trying, and have a pretty good time at it too.

“Fuck…” came a shuddery grumble from above, followed by more wet, urgent kissing noises. 

And in between sucking, licking, and stroking, Loki saw Thor reaching behind himself. He was… god, he was fingering himself. After a moment, he pushed Loki away, and made him stand up. He pulled Loki into his arms, and kissed him, shoving his tongue deep inside, as if he was actively seeking the taste of Svad and himself in Loki’s mouth.

“Will you let him fuck me,” he whispered to Loki, such a sultry, hot plea. “Let him fuck me while your mouth is on me. Please.”

Svad thought it a fine idea too, judging from that little gasp. And between kisses and soft moans they took each other to bed, and there they fell, Thor on his back, Svad between his thighs. Loki wished to see Thor’s face when Svad first entered him, for that golden, smug face when he was being fucked was a thing to behold. He yielded to Svad so beautifully, so wantonly, and took it with the most enticing frown of pleasure when the slow, intense ploughing began. Then he turned to Loki, and reeled him in.

“Loki, please…”

Loki lunged at it. The way he was striding Thor, his ass was just in the right place for something that featured in his dreams and memories too quite a lot.

“Glmbfff Nornffs yeff…” he mumbled around Thor’s cock, as his ass got the full, extremely skilled and devoted attention of the Overlord of the Nine Realms. That tongue and those fingers were as mischievous and shameless as he remembered. And being open and still wet from the recent fucking, Thor could reach deep...

“Oh for the love of ffffff…” moaned Loki around Thor’s cock. 

He was being  _ slaughtered _ . And he was going to go  _ insane _ . What Thor was doing to him was enough to keep him high on edge, but not enough. The two of them were getting a good shake with Svad’s vigorous fucking. And despair made Loki selfish.

“Get off,” he said, as he pushed Svad away. He took Svad’s place between Thor’s legs. Before he pushed into Thor, Loki signified what he needed from Svad grabbing his cock and leading it to his own ass. 

Thor had witnessed the whole thing with a destroyed, sweaty, dozy half-grin, his face all wet with the spit he’d used on Loki. How he bit his lip and lifted his head in anticipation, to have a peek when Loki lined up and fucked in. How he let himself melt boneless into the mattress as Loki entered him. 

At his back, Loki felt Svad’s heat. He reached behind to draw him near.

“Come on,” he begged. 

Svad held him and bent him over slightly to expose him. And then, with his mouth on Loki’s neck, hot and wet, he pushed in. Loki let his head fall forwards, feeling himself throb inside Thor. And Thor’s face, watching him like that,  _ fuck _ . Svad moved. Loki moved. Thor’s hand reached for his own cock and stroked it idly. And Loki… was probably dying. The multiple assaults on his senses didn’t let him focus on either. Svad was going slow and hard, and Thor just kept playing with himself, twisting, pulling, his expression indolent, slightly smug. His eyes met Loki’s, who had seen that exact face in his wettest dreams too. Loki also started slow and hard, but soon he was going at it frantically, desperate to see Thor as undone and needy as he himself was feeling, with Svad giving it to him fast and dirty now too.

Thor’s frown began to deepen, and his hand to stroke more purposefully, and when he started to moan…

“Fuck, fuck…” Loki was crumbling piece by piece, unable to stop looking.

“Don’t stop now, don’t stop it…” begged Thor, jacking quickly now. He was shuddering so beautifully. “Fuck. Harder, harder…”

Loki did his fucking best, but Svad was driving him out his mind with the friction now, and the hard clash of their bodies. He barely even made it, when Thor arched his back, let his jaw drop, and started to come. His body clenched around Loki’s cock, and Svad’s fucking reached a new height, and Loki let himself go, sobbing as he came deep inside Thor’s body. Svad was not as loud, and came with deep shudders with his lips sealed on Loki’s neck.

 

Three grown, sweaty, panting men sprawled on the bed, taking their sweet time to go back to the mortal realm. Loki in particular was completely lost in an epic afterglow. Next to him, Thor chuckled darkly, sounding as wrecked and deeply satisfied and one could possibly be.

“This was a good idea,” said Thor, “don’t you agree?”

Loki couldn’t articulate words. Svad was still panting hard.

 

After they cleaned up again, they called for refreshments. Loki didn’t even care who saw them and what they made of it. 

After they had had some refreshments, he thought they’d be going to sleep. It didn’t quite happen like that. The moment he found himself sandwiched between two warm, outrageously beautiful bodies…

“Damn,” he said, as he felt himself grow hard once more.

Thor laughed. Svad feigned shock.

“Your majesty, you’re insatiable.”

“I walked wonky for three days the last time,” laughed Thor.

Loki was mortified, but also… 

“Oh, dear. Are you saying you… can’t? Not again? Not so soon?” he taunted them.

Silence. Then a scramble to get on top of him from all sides, and prove him wrong.

 

At dawn, finally, utterly exhausted, sore and bruised as if he’d been fighting a battle, Loki fell into a deep sleep. They had been fucking in a wide array of imaginative configurations, each more aesthetically pleasing than the last. When Loki had needed a break, he had been more than happy to spend it watching the other two going at each other. He knew Thor enjoyed being fucked, but he didn’t know what a massive cock slut he was. He particularly enjoyed taking it on his hands and knees, but he was pretty desperate too to be fucked against a wall by sweet, powerful Svad, probably one of the few men around able to carry his weight. As for Svad, he clearly enjoyed giving it to the Overlord of the Nine Realms in every way, but he looked quite adorably overcome when it was both Thor and Loki working on him, and they both proved very soon to be quite fond of that. Thor's mouth about that girthy, veiny cock, moaning in lust as he took Svad all in, was a vision guaranteed to keep Loki warm on a cold winter's day for many years into the future. 

All in all, they made good use of their time. And when all three were completely spent, they would kiss, caress, and cuddle.

Every gloomy thought was fucked out of Loki’s brain for the night. The long draught brought about by that ridiculous self-imposed vow of celibacy was soaked and drowned and completely flooded. Tomorrow didn’t matter one bit. He slept like an infant, exhausted, cradled in the warmth and gentle press of those two bodies around him. And so, he never saw how he was looked upon with supreme tenderness, two rough hands belonging to two different men petting his hair, stealing a caress of his face, of his hand, tracing his knuckles with puffy lips.

“Look at him,” whispered Thor quietly, so as not to disturb his slumber. “I wish I had the words in your language for the love he inspires in my heart.”

Svad smiled dimly. 

“I wish I had the words in any language,” he whispered in turn.

They looked at each other, and shared a moment of profound intimacy, brought about by their common devotion. Then Svad rolled onto his back, hands entwined over his stomach, his eyes open, glinting in the growing clarity of the coming sunrise.

“Not tired yet, my Lord?” asked Thor.

“Tired, very,” said Svad. “Sleepy, no.”

Softly, Thor asked, “Does your mind trouble you, dear friend?”

“My mind, my heart,” replied Svad, with a sigh.

Thor met that with a silence. What could he possibly say.

“When will you tell him? What you told me earlier,” asked Svadilfari.

“When we reach Svellhaer, the Royal Ice Palace, I thought.”

“Why wait?”

“Because I will not have my words thrown back at me and be called lies and tricks contrived only to win his heart. I will stand in the hall of his ancestors, and there I will speak of my deeds and my intentions, where the whole kingdom can hear, and he will know that I mean what I have said, that I speak the truth, and that I am honest.”

“Fair enough," Svad said. "He does have a sharp tongue, and his trust is not what it once was.” And w ith a sigh, he rose and started dressing.

“Where are you going?”

“I’ll retire to the chamber adjacent. I’ll leave you to yourselves.”

Thor sat upright, and reached for Svad, clasping his wrist.

“Stay. Stay with us.”

“What for.”

“Because... Because I do not wish to see him unhappy.”

Svad turned to face him, examining his expression.

“...You would share him, of course,” he noted.

“I would. If he wishes to,” said Thor. “I will do as he commands.”

Svad nodded, as if confirming something he already knew.

“...But I, alas, would not,” he muttered. “I cannot. Not right now.”

“But perhaps one day?” asked Thor.

“Perhaps. Only the Norns know.”

Thor stroked his wrist, kissed his hand.

“Know that you are loved here,” he said.

Svadilfari smiled warmly.

“I think I do.”

“To think we could have been friends from the beginning,” said Thor.

“Some would say that what counts is being friends till the end. That, we can yet manage. For now, I shall leave you. But promise me one thing: after Svellhaer, no more tricks, no more lies, no more games. Deserve him.”

Thor nodded solemnly.

“I swear. ”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If we're lucky, it won't take another year to get the next chap done. We're nearing the end of this story...
> 
> Damn you and thank you Thorctopus for working me so hard and being so hard to please. You were totally right every time when you demanded more. It needed more, and it's better for it. Anyway, bad good or ugly, it's done. But now I need a holiday.

**Author's Note:**

> Guess who's got two thumbs, grabby hands, and loves comments ^_^
> 
> As always, beta'd by the one, the only, the incomparable Thorctopus, and then probably much mucked up all over again by me.
> 
>  
> 
> ***THE SPOILER*** Thor/Loki/Svadilfari sandwich in chapter 7. Thorki is still endgame.


End file.
